


The Litany of Chastity

by sprosslee



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: ADHD, Aromanticism, Asexuality, Catholic Guilt, Catholicism, Diarrhea, Family Relationships - Freeform, Homophobia, JJ is oblivious and a bit stupid, M for themes not smut, Masturbation, Multi, Open Ending, Slurs, Swearing, The Not-Victuuri Bang, Unreliable Narrator, Vomit, communication problems, large family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-30 00:05:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18304226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprosslee/pseuds/sprosslee
Summary: “What happens when you can’t win gold this year either?”Slowly, Jean opens his eyes. “Why do you ask? This has been working well, hasn’t it?”Two best friends who love each other, making their families happy by being together, and having not a speck of enticement towards pre-marital sex. Surely, this arrangement was what God wanted.Plus, it was saving him from eternal damnation and all that.***It’s not that JJ doesn’t love Bella, she’s great. Deep inside, however, he knows that something isn’t right, and it’s definitely not his ADHD. It’s that Minami Kenjirou is in Canada to train with him, and too cute for his own good.





	1. Chapter 1

A heatwave is crawling over Montreal. In his parents’ kitchen, Jean is lazily lounging on the corner seat, stomach full of comfort food, Bella so close to him that he can feel her body warming his left thigh. She’s fanning herself with a folded leaflet in eye-cancer inducing colours. 

While Jean is trying to clean his cavities with a toothpick, he thinks of a boy. Blond. Curly. Kinda short, but well-built, most likely hitting the gym every day. Excellent glutes. If he ever sees him around the rink again he’ll ask him about his training plan. 

“It’s too hot,” Bella says, puts the leaflet away and grabs her glass to hold it like a mug of coffee despite the 40 degrees it must have in the stuffy room. Even opening the window to the garden didn’t help. “You hear me, JJ?”

Jean is still poking around with his toothpick, just where the filling in his molar is. Mom’s pulled pork was delicious as always, but the pieces that got stuck between Jean’s teeth are a nightmare. He ogles the meat he just fished out and pops it into his mouth. 

Since his appetite came back, everything tastes so delicious. 

“Jesus Christ.” Since Bella became vegetarian, she’s been a lot more judgmental than usual, but it’s her loss. This is better than dessert, he thinks, and licks his lips just so see her cringe.

“Don’t you use the name of the Lord in vain,” he says and wags his index finger. 

It seems Bella fights a strong urge to wag another finger at him. 

In the garden, Marietta-Marielle and Louis-Leo are playing soccer, not slowed down at all by the kilos of fatty meat they’ve just devoured. Although the twins have grown since they left for boarding school, they’re still more kids than teenagers. Their delighted shrieks are piercing the simmering air. 

Oh, to be young and careless again.

“JJ?”

Speaking of being young and careless. Jean turns his head to look at Therese-Theophila, who has just entered the kitchen and flops down on one of the kitchen chairs across Bella and him. “Hey, Muffin.”

Theo’s brown curls bounce when she speaks, when she moves, even when she sits. “Stop calling me that,” she says, like any respectable 17-year-old girl would at the sound of her childhood nickname. 

“But that’s what you are. A cute little piece of cake,” Jean answers, smacks his lips and Bella chuckles. “What do you want, _Muffin_?”

“I want to know which dress to buy for your wedding. I need to tell my plus one. Or tell them when the wedding is happening. I’m not getting any younger, you know.” Theo crosses her long figure skater legs and her slender arms and tries to stare Jean down. Apart from the curls she inherited from their great-grandma, she looks like the spitting image of mum, and she’s just as headstrong as her. “Spill the beans.”

_That again._ By now, Jean is almost certain mom sent her. Her pulled pork is delicious, her interrogation tactics get meaner every Sunday. She knows that of all of his siblings, Theo is by far his favourite, and for a moment he considers the option of just telling her the truth, especially because he really wants to know who her plus one is. 

Bella takes his hand before he folds, always there to cover things up. The diamond on her engagement ring glitters in the sunlight that falls through the window. “Still no Grand Prix gold. It’s unfortunate, but he made a promise, so…”

He really needs to buy Bella her favourite Godiva chocolates more often.

Dissatisfied with the answer, Theo tilts her head and curls her lips. “That dork is never going to win gold. Not as long as Yuri Plisetsky is out there kicking his sorry ass every time.”

“You little...,” Jean roars and lets go of Bella’s hand. He jumps up to chase her through the kitchen while she screams and laughs and her curls bounce and bounce and bounce. 

***

“JJ?”

“Hn?”

“What would happen if we told our families the truth?” 

It has always been easy to make Bella happy—a bubble bath of colourful foam, calm music from her favourite playlist, Jean behind the bathtub in the rocking chair he inherited from his aunt Constance, naked because of the heat, keeping her silent company. He’s scrolling through his Instagram feed. His favourite, _Toronto_Loco_ , has just posted some new pictures. How can a guy have such perfect hair in every picture? 

Also, he’s so not ready to answer Bella’s question. It’s still too hot, he can’t think straight. 

“Honey.” 

With an annoyed sigh, Jean looks up from his iPad. “What?”

“Will you join me?” Bella says without turning around.

Jean is one hundred percent sure she’s smirking. For sure, she has that look on her face she always has when she knows something he doesn't. 

_Smug_ , that’s the word. 

Bella grabs a luffa sponge to wash her breasts. Even from his position, Jean can see cotton-candy-coloured water drop off her hard nipples. He looks away, onto his tablet. Curls, glutes, sixpack. Nice. _Toronto_Loco’s_ new workout routine seems to pay off. “Can’t. You’re too sexy. I won’t be able to control myself.” 

“Yeah, right. Maybe if I was 1.80 and had a hairy chest.” 

“Eww.”

“Shut up and hand me a beer.” Bella reaches out behind herself to take the _Moison_ Jean grabs from the cooling box. “And get into the tub.”

This reminds Jean once more why she is his best friend and financeé—nobody else except his own family would stand him for more than ten minutes and also dare to boss around King JJ.

(Except Plisetsky.)

(But that guy doesn’t really count.) 

(Stupid Plisetsky.) 

Maybe it would be nice to soak in warm water for a bit, their tub is big enough. They have done it before, on other Sunday evenings, after Jean invested in the most luxurious model money could buy. Mom praised him for being “a good fiancé” when he fulfilled Bella’s wish and bought her not only the bathtub, but this old brick house in one of the fanciest parts of town for their fifth anniversary. Mom doesn’t know how things were before and how they are now. 

Mom doesn’t know what Bella really wants.

(Who knows, anyway?)

Jean gets up from the rocking chair and slips out of his sweatpants. Face neutral, beer can in her manicured hand, Bella is watching. “Objectively speaking, you’re a very handsome man,” she says in a voice that could also be describing a beautiful floor lamp.

He stretches in front of the bathtub, not caring about the fact that his dick is hanging flaccid and soft right next to her face. “Objectively speaking, you’re a very pretty woman.” They have played this game often in the last few years.

Bella drags her knees closer to make space for Jean and his long legs and grins when he flinches as soon as his balls touch the hot water. “You’re such a baby.”

“I’m an _ice skater_. God couldn’t also make me heatproof.”

“Yeah, that would obviously have been too much perfection in one person.”

Jean grits his teeth and sits down to fully dip into the hot water. As so many things, he gets used to it after a few moments of agony. 

They soak in silence for a bit. Bella sips her beer, then starts talking about something about a new Japanese co-worker in her soothing evening voice, which is always easy to tune out. Jean yawns—once, twice—then leans back and dozes away. This is bliss.

“I really want to know who Theo would bring to our hypothetical wedding,” he says. “I’ve never seen her with a boy.”

“I bet she’ll bring that hockey player,” Bella answers. 

“Steve?” 

(That guy is 1.90 and build like a wardrobe.) 

“No, that girl Leila. They do everything together nowadays.”

“Nah. I bet she has a boyfriend somewhere.” 

(But it’s not Steve.) 

(What does Bella know.)

Later, when he’s been soaking enough, he’ll return to Instagram, to _Toronto_Loco_. Maybe he’ll write him a message, ask him out for coffee. Jean is a famous ex rock star and one of the best ice skaters of his generation, that guy won’t be able to resist. While he composes the perfect message, Bella will watch a Disney movie and scoop some Ben and Jerry’s right out of the family pack. It’ll be a lazy Sunday evening, perfect to recharge before another week of exhausting training sessions. 

The new short program is once again designed to push him to his limits. Mom had several Skype conversations with Team Japan, and after the last call she exchanged some of the easier step combinations in the second half for murderous jumps that will bring up his score—if he miraculously manages to land all of them. 

The whole program now clearly shows Katsuki’s handwriting. It’s brutal and mean and perfect, but someone needs to tell that crazy Japanese guy not everyone has inhuman stamina. 

(Yet.)

“What happens when you can’t win gold this year either?” 

Slowly, Jean opens his eyes. “Why do you ask? This has been working well, hasn’t it?” 

Two best friends who love each other, making their families happy by being together, and having not a speck of enticement towards pre-marital sex. Surely, this arrangement was what God wanted. 

Plus, it was saving him from eternal damnation and all that.

“If you say so,” Bella says, a faint smile on her lips. Her spit surely tastes like beer.

Jean won’t find out about that tonight.

“It’s fantastic that you follow the words of your king,” he says and snorts when Bella bombards him with a handful of pink foam. Life is good. No need to worry. Don’t fix what’s not broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this fic is taken [from this prayer](http://www.chastitysf.com/litany_of_chastity.htm).


	2. Chapter 2

Bella always says Jean has the attention span of a honey-roasted cashew, and most of the time, he just has to agree. It’s pretty hard for him to focus on things he’s not interested in, it has always been and it probably always will. Usually, he and his surroundings can live quite well with it.

Sometimes, however, it bites him in the butt. 

Jean just stares at his mom and at the almost stranger behind her, because words are not enough. “What is _he_ doing here?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” she says. With a sigh, she sips coffee out of her isolated Starbucks mug. Her breath smells of coconut syrup, white sugar and forbidden saturated fats. “It’s only temporary, not the end of the world as you know it.”

For a moment Jean wishes for the perfection that is a Salted Caramel Mocha. Maybe the caffeine would give him a much needed boost at this ungodly hour, especially when he has to digest news like these. 

But sugary drinks are cancelled till the season ends, which is in several months. Also, he’s supposed to hate Starbucks now due to the fact that the company did not only drive out Bella’s favourite cozy corner café from downtown and replaced it with a generic branch store, but also pays its workers minimum wage. Sometimes it sucks to be the fianceé of a hardcore health nut and eco warrior who watches documentaries about sweatshops and climate change for fun. 

(Christ, forget about the stupid coffee.) 

_Kenjirou Minami_ , of all people, is hiding behind his mother, which is totally hilarious because his mother is about 1,70 and still he manages to vanish behind her. Well, he’s just a twerp, even at 21. Which is the legal drinking age in Japan. Which Jean looked up when Plisetsky moved over there. 

(Stupid Plisetsky.)

(Stupid mom.)

(Focus.)

“Please answer my question.” Jean crosses his arms and intensifies his glare while simultaneously battling the swirling thoughts in his head. 

“Well…”

“It’s a favour for the _gays_ ,” Simon-Samuel comments from the wooden banks where he’s putting on his skate guards. “How do you think she got them to work on your short program?” 

Theo hits her brother on the head, curls bouncing. “Don’t just call them ‘gays’, dipshit. They have names.” 

“I can call them whatever I want. Also, it’s not even a lie. They are gay, aren’t they?” Simon growls and pushes her away. Sometimes it’s unbelievable that he’s seventeen and taller than Jean already. 

“You’re still a dipshit, Simon-Samuel. They are people! Reducing them to their sexual orientation is dehumanizing and—”

“ENOUGH,” mom booms in her mom voice and turns to Jean again, leaving Theo and Simon mouthing forbidden curses at each other behind her back. “And just so you know: As Simon has so nicely put it, Mr. Minami is here to train with us for some time. ‘Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself’. Theo, you’d know the drill—if you’d been to church with me last Sunday.”

Theo only huffs; she hasn’t set into church after having a loud argument about hypocrites with Father Adrian a year ago. “I need no church to love like Jesus did.”

At that, Simon blows a raspberry. 

It earns him a raised mom eyebrow. “Yes, I might or might not owe Katsuki a favour. By the way, I told you about this, Jean. Yesterday at dinner. And last week at training as well. And I’m pretty sure Isabella has told you once or twice, because I asked her to.”

(Oh.) 

(He was the Japanese co-worker she was talking about in the bathtub.) 

During all of it, Minami says nothing, only smiles a tiny smile that shows his crooked teeth. It’s clear as ice that he doesn’t understand what’s going on at all. Hasn’t there been an interview with him in _International Figure Skating_ where he stated he was terrible at English, even after starting to compete all around the world? Guess that’s what happens when your coaches do all the talking for you. 

“Mom did really tell you yesterday,” Simon says. “While you were stuffing your face like a pig. With pork.”

Maybe there was something, between the salad and the main course, but Jean is not known for listening when there is food and when he’s hungry. Also, he only had the tiniest bit of fatty meat. He’s on a diet and Simon-Samuel knows it because he’s been on the same since he was ten. The rest is true though, but they know him and his fucked-up brain. “I can’t remember.”

“That’s because you’re only ever listening when the conversation is about yourself,” Simon says.

Well, that’s not 100% true. Jean listens, but sometimes he doesn’t understand. 

“God, have mercy with my brother’s annoying soul,” Theo moans and rolls her eyes. “I can’t even— JJ only forgot your birthday _once_ , you can’t bear a grudge forever!” 

“Watch me.” With these words, Simon stands up, grabs his duffle bag, and leaves. One has to give him kudos for being so consistent in his teenage fury. 

It's easy to deal with one of his siblings hating him; Mom popped out enough of them to balance it out after all, thank God.

With this comforting thought in mind, Jean looks at Minami and the confusion that’s written all over his feminine face. “So he’s is going to train with us?”

Minami tilts his head when he realizes he’s the focus of attention again. “I’m Minami Kenjirou. Please take good care of me!” he says, steps forward, and bows, then rises again and smiles. Apparently this is all he’s able to say. He has absurdly round eyes, girlishly long eyelashes, and his Team Japan jacket is at least five sizes too big. All this makes him kinda cute, though, like a guinea pig, especially with that clueless face. 

(The lights are on, but nobody’s home.) 

Theo tries her best not no chuckle. 

Jean tries to make a friendly face. He’s sure that he looks like a shark. “Hey there, buddy.” 

There’s no answer, just another helpless smile. 

(Good grief.)

Mom takes another sip of her coffee. “He’s going to train with _you_ , to be precise. You’re going to teach him how to land the the triple Axel. It’ll be good practice for your future work as a coach. Training with the beginners is cancelled till he leaves.”

Shoot, Jean loves teaching the little ones, but arguing with his mother is out of question. At least he can practice what he learned about coaching grown-ups at uni, something he’ll be thankful for when he takes over the business from mom. “What else is there in for me?”

“He’s going to show you how to put more feeling into your skating. At the moment, you look like a puppet on a string on the ice.”

***

Jean doesn’t want to admit it, but sadly, mom’s at least partially right: his new program gives him a lot of trouble although the music she chose is beautiful. The song starts with solemn flutes and a xylophone, but in the second half it picks up pace and turns into a fast piece that is fun to skate to. It’s exactly what Jean wants in a classical song. He can show off his technical skills; it gives him goosebumps; it’s exciting. He can execute it almost perfectly as far as technique is concerned, a few floppy jumps and aside.

And still, he fucks it up. 

Every. 

Single.

Time. 

It’s that his mind is still trying to adapt to having to work on its own that makes his skating mechanical and lifeless. It will get better eventually, it always has in summer. The first few weeks off of his meds are always hard, but at least he can think creatively again and doesn’t have to jerk off every two hours, so it’s totally worth it. 

(Hush.)

(Nobody must know.)

When mom interrupts him for the gazillionth time at two minutes and a half, he sends a silent prayer to the heavens to deliver him from training. The worst thing is not that he can’t do it the right way, it’s Minami taking notes on that ridiculous notepad with comic book characters on it and staring at him with these gargantuan eyes, not saying a single word, only smiling his weird, overexcited smile. 

Maybe he can’t speak. Maybe he’s dumb and never learned how to form a coherent sentence. Thinking of which, maybe that interview Jean read was an email interview ghostwritten by Katsuki.

Mom waves at him until he’s focused again. “Go take a shower, Jean. We’ll discuss what went wrong over lunch.”

At least Jesus answered his prayers for once. 

Under the hot water, Jean’s mind wanders. If he manages to ace that program, he’ll kick Plisetsky’s sorry behind once and for all. How sad he’ll be, and how mad, so mad that not even his cute girlfriend will manage to calm him down. Maybe he’ll throw a tantrum right where the reporters are, kicking one of them, like that time when Nikiforov won his last gold medal with a program Katsuki choreographed for him. Plisetsky is still such a baby, no matter how much he grew in the past years.

Thinking of which, won’t it be the most satisfying moment when Plisetsky realizes Jean pushed him from his throne with a program his own coach choreographed? 

(Oh, the agony.)

(Helping a rival succeed.) 

(Tehe.)

Apparently the warm water drumming on his scalp does wonders for his brain. 

(Wait a moment.)

When the realization hits him, Jean opens his eyes and immediately gets shampoo in them. Cursing under his breath, he makes sure to rinse them thoroughly. Looking like an albino rat doesn’t fit a celebrity, and you never know who you’re going to meet after training. 

Not that he’ll have time for that, with a Japanese rival in his wake, who, as Jean remembers, isn’t that bad himself. Who Jean is supposed to teach a jump that’s going to make him a far more dangerous opponent. Who might become good enough to score higher than Jean during the next event. 

(He can’t.)

The water is getting colder. 

(But thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.)

Good grief. Denying his mom’s wish is one thing, but denying the wishes of the _Lord_ would be blasphemy. He can’t commit blasphemy, no way in h—

Turning off the water, Jean steps out of the shower and takes a towel. “This is going to be just great.”

***

At noon, the cafeteria next to the rink is packed with people grabbing a quick and cheap bite. The clanging of pots, pans and plates from the open kitchen drowns their voices. It smells of the non-diet-friendly dish of the day, which must be something unhealthily greasy. The new chef won’t work here long if he doesn’t adapt to the dietary needs of his main clientele quickly. 

“You need to work on your expression harder. I’m very glad that we get the chance to work with a skater who’s a master in that field,” mom says. She pushes her fork into her lasagna al forno, which is of course forbidden for Jean. It smells so divine he hears the angels sing.

If Matt was here, he’d surely help with the expression problem because of all Leroys, he was the true master when it came to that. But Matt is gone, and Jean is the one who has to work with Minami.

(It’s useless to waste energy on missing him anyway.) 

“I’ll try,” Jean says.

“No, you’re not _trying_ , son, you’re going to win! This year you must make Grand Prix gold. You could open a silver mine with all that second place medals you’ve won already.”

Not that Jean _wants_ to win. 

“I told you, I’ll try my best,” he says. “With him.”

Minami stares at his plate. Halfheartedly, he picks at his poached chicken breast, steamed broccoli and carrots. 

To be honest, Jean can’t blame him, their lunch option is missing cheese and any kind of flavour as core components. “But I’m not sure how much help he’ll be if he’s as mute as a maggot.” 

“Jean-Jacques, be nice. He’s in a foreign country with people he doesn’t know at all. I’m sure he’ll warm up quick when you spend some time with him.”

Jean throws a glance at their silent guest. As long as nobody speaks to him directly, Minami seems more like a potted plant than a human being, not moving, only sometimes turning his head toward the nearest light source. And what’s it with that smile of his? It’s almost creepy.

Maybe it’s the crooked teeth.

According to mom, Minami has been in Canada for three days, visiting some distant relatives in Quebec before he came here. Apparently he’s not going to leave anytime soon. Apparently Jean is supposed to take the potted plant boy home and take care of him for _weeks_ , although Mom knows he can’t even keep a cactus alive. Apparently mom talked to Bella about this. 

(Damn.)

Jean sighs. “Guess if I water him daily he won’t die.” 

***

After lunch, Jean manages to get himself, Minami and his enormous suitcase into his Lexus through gestures and exaggerated facial expressions. The boy sits down on the passenger seat, fastens his seatbelt and smiles helplessly at Jean, who honestly has no idea what to do with him. Frowning, he sorts his hair before he starts the engine. “Let’s go.”

“Wohoo!” Minami says. It sounds straight out of a comic book. 

During the drive, Jean tries to focus on the road. He’s a good driver, always has been, always very focused. Apart from skating, studying at uni and driving are the only two other activities he’s ever aced. On a rare occasion when they got drunk together, Otabek joked that if Jean hadn’t been such a dedicated skater, he’d either become become the world’s best kinesiologist or an awesome race car driver. Jean wants to tell Minami just that, but that would be a waste of breath. 

“You know, I didn’t know you were coming,” he says instead.

Minami looks out of the window. Nothing on him indicates he’s listening. 

(What a drag.) 

“I’m not sure what to do with you now. ” Jean hits the turn signal and reduces his speed, making the Lexus purr around the corner. Better keep talking, the silence in the car is drowning him already. “No idea why they sent you to me and not to Leo. I mean, I’ve seen you with him on Insta. You’re friends, right? Didn’t you visit him some months ago? I don’t know what mom was thinking of inviting you over. We haven’t even talked before, right?” 

There’s no answer. 

“This is ridiculous, really.” 

“But we talk,” Minami says, the tiniest of smiles tucking at his lips. “Have talk, yes.” 

Jean feels Minami’s eyes resting on his cheek. While he drives the last kilometers, he tries to remember what on earth that boy means. Maybe he means ‘talks’. Jean would surely be able to recall if they’d had a conversation before, right?

(Wait.)

“Cup of China? My stomach hurt. Eat wrong thing. Food... out?” Minami makes desperate vomiting noises, accompanying them with some exaggerated gestures of things falling out of his mouth. It’s very life-like.

(Oh.)

It had been in the toilets, shortly before the short programs would start. Jean had made it a habit to sit on the toilet and wait, just in case he needed to take a dump. There was nothing worse than having to peel out of a skin-tight, bedazzled costume after you had to stuff yourself into it because your guts decided now would be a good time to get funky. It was his nerves, mostly. His meds calmed the anxiety but they also made his bowels, well, act up. 

Just as Jean had sat down and opened Instagram, the noises had started. 

Did _’Hey, are you okay?’_ count as talking, especially when the answer was only a muffled _’Yes’_? Jean doesn’t know. But he remembers that he dragged his costume up and walked over to the stall where the horrible retching had continued. He’d asked if the person inside needed something, got no answer, listened for a while, and when the smell had creeped out under the door, he’d fled. 

He only felt guilty about leaving the other person behind for a heartbeat, because If there’s anything he detests, it is the smell of puke—it always makes him want to puke, too. He can’t even be in the same room when Bella is sick, and he’d nursed her back to health when she suffered from that terrible fever a few years ago that turned her into a snotty monster with gummy eyes and pasty skin. 

“We talked, yes,” Jean says, and smiles, and Minami smiles, and Jean smiles back, racks his head for more topics to speak about, and—praise the Lord and all his cherubim—there’s his house, because Jean just can’t sit in this car any second longer or he’ll drive it straight into the next wall.

He kills the engine and hops out of the Lexus to get Minami’s suitcase from the trunk, then walks to the front door and unlocks it. 

Minami follows him, eyes as big as saucers just as if he’d never seen a house in his whole life. “Nice.”

Surely they must have detached houses in Japan, right? Or maybe he’s from a farm, and has never been to the city. 

(No. That doesn’t make any sense.)

(Maybe Minami’s just slow.)

(Where the heck is Bella?) 

While taking his shoes off, a quick glance on his Apple watch shows Jean that she won’t be home from uni in the next few hours, but it seems to be true that she knew Minami was coming— 

(On second thought, Bella always knows.) 

—because in the entrance hall there is a new pair of furry pink slippers that are clearly meant for Minami. They’re tiny, and on the kitchen table there is a folded note. Waiting for Minami to wriggle out of his worn-out sneakers, Jean reads it.

_JJ,_

_There’s soy milk in the fridge and I also bought some rice milk pudding—Katsuki said that Minami likes that. I prepared the guest room for him, which means we’re sharing a bed again! All your things are in the bedroom. Please be nice while I’m away :)_

_Bella_

_P.S.: Don’t forget to read the letter Katsuki has sent along about Minami. I printed it out for you._

Jean clicks his tongue at _Please be nice while I’m away_ and the list that’s neatly folded next to a vase with fresh pink dahlias. He’s definitely not going to read it; he’s perfectly capable of taking care of a human being, they’re not cacti after all. Nowadays, Bella tends to behave more like a second mom than a fianceé, but Christ, he hasn’t been a proper fiancé himself, has he? Sharing a bed after all this time will be weird. It can’t be helped though, he can’t exactly sleep with Minam— in a bed with Minami. 

“Heeey buddy.”

In his pink slippers, Minami looks even more forlorn than before. He stands in the doorway and looks at Jean with a slightly tilted head, his flat face completely unreadable. A few of his orange strands fall into his face and he swipes them back, exposing a slim white wrist. 

” I see you found your slippers.”

“Cute slippers!” 

Jean waits for another two-word sentence until the silence becomes stifling, then swallows. “I’ll show you your room, okay?”

***

While Minami unpacks, Jean paces a few rounds around the kitchen table, tries to solve today’s sudoku in the _Toronto Star_ , fills a glass of water from the Brita, drinks, sits down, tries the sudoku again, fails miserably, and finally takes out his phone before he starts cleaning the surfaces of the kitchen.

He’s been on edge constantly since they came home and the reason is this… this _person_ in his house. Usually he watches some stupid Netflix show while scrolling through his Instagram feed and checking out _Toronto_Loco’_ s newest pics when he comes home from practice, but now that he has a guest, he’s expected to—

To what, exactly?

“Oh God.”

There haven’t been a lot of sleepovers here in the last few months, in the last few years, not since Jean moved out of the master bedroom and took camp in the guest room, so he’s not exactly an expert when it comes to having people stay over. Shoot, Minami’ll probably expect that he talks with him. Jean’s pretty good at rambling at people, he knows that much, but smalltalk? Jesus, he hopes Bella comes home early. 

(Better get another glass of water.)

(Or milk.)

(Maybe milk.)

“Rurowa-san?”

When he realizes the weird string of syllables he just heard is supposed to be his last name, Jean whips around, glass in his hand. Of course he splatters half of the milk on the floor, and of course he hisses a curse he’ll totally have to confess to Father Adrian next Sunday before he grabs a roll of paper towels, drops to his knees and starts cleaning up. 

When he looks up, Minami kneels right next to him in his oversized tracksuit. His hair is still damp from the shower he took, and his eyes shine as if he might start to cry any second. It’s confusingly cute. 

“Don’t worry, I’m a klutz,” Jean hurries to say. “Which means, none of this is your fault. I spill stuff constantly, I’m just like that. Not _on_ the ice, of course, because I’m awesome, but off of it.” It’s a lie, but white lies are not grave sins, sometimes they’re necessary. Even Matt said so.

(Stop thinking about Matt.)

“Kuh-lutz,” Minami repeats slowly. “Off the ice.” He reaches out for the paper towels and helps Jean clean the floor. “Sorry for scare.”

“I told you it’s no big deal,” Jean says. He gets up, they’re finished and their cleaning lady will come anyway tomorrow morning. “Are you hungry? I could make you something to eat.” Not that even after doing two nutritionist classes at uni, he can make much more than sandwiches, protein shakes and Kraft dinner, but Minami doesn’t need to know that this isn’t the prime of Canadian home cooking. 

(Kraft dinner.)

As soon as the idea has entered his brain, Jean can’t get rid of it. 

He wants comfort food, now. He needs to make comfort food Minami, now. Everyone likes Kraft dinners, right? 

Right?

“You must be hungry. Let Uncle Jean take care of you. Do you like Mac and Cheese?”

“Uh, cheese, I can no—”

Jean ushers Minami to the dinner table and makes him sit. “Shhh, don’t worry about our diet plan. My mother doesn’t have to know about it. We can eat dry chicken breast and steamed broccoli tomorrow again—one day of breaking your diet plan doesn’t make you fat. Trust me, I’m an expert!”

While opening the box and assembling the right amount of butter and milk he needs, Jean starts to think he’s getting better at this whole host business. Minami looks semi-comfortable at his kitchen table, even cheers on him with an awkward “Yayyyy” when he opens the box, so that’s something. There are some of Bella’s favourite turkey wieners in the fridge to go with the pasta once it’s finished, so this dish will basically be a proper home-cooked meal. Jean has made this so often he could do it in his sleep. 

Oh, he’s nailing this. Bella will be so proud. 

It doesn’t take long for the noodles to boil, and even shorter to put everything together to the big pile of trans fat goodness Jean loves so much. He puts the food onto two plates, cuts the wiener sausages into bite-sized pieces and because he feels extra-fancy, he adds sliced cherry tomatoes as garnish. 

“You know, all bodies need fats. Not necessarily these fats, because they’ll basically instantly clog our arteries, but they’re good, and when you eat good food sometimes you can bare all the bland stuff we usually eat, right? At least that’s what Celestino always said. Oh, his pasta puttanesca was to die for.”

“Big nose guy?”

“Yeah, that’s Celestino. I miss his food sometimes, but his temper was awful. But I bet you know a temper from your Russian rinkmates. ” Jean is the master of multitasking, that’s what he is: he can entertain his guest _and_ take care of his dietary needs. How many people are able to do that? “Does Plisetsky still throw tantrums? I bet he does.”

“He not throws.”

“I mean... does Plisetsky get angry a lot?” Maybe the message is easier to understand with the help of an angry face. 

When the penny drops, Minami nods eagerly. “Yes, yes. Sometimes. I am slow, makes him angry!”

The thought of Plisetsky kicking Minami in the shins make Jean laugh. 

Soon, he’s done with cooking. The finished product looks awesome, especially when he sprinkles a bit of dried parsley on top. With a big smile on his face, Jean presents the plates to Minami, who rewards him with a a small, slightly awkward applause before staring at his portion in anxious awe. “This is big.”

“Yeah, you can’t exactly eat this in small portions,” Jean says, pushing away the thought that his plate contains about 3,000 calories and if his mom ever finds out, she’ll make him run one hundred extra laps. “You can’t tell my mother I made you this. Ever. It’s a secret.”

“It secret?” Minami takes his spoon and looks at Jean. His eyes glitter mischievously. 

“Yeah. Dig in.” 

His guest is a small fry, but after the first reluctant bite turns into a pasta hoover of epic proportions. Jean isn’t finished with even half his plate when Minami asks for second, cheese sauce still glistening on his lips. While eating, he makes the funniest, adorable little noises.

Watching him go through another heap of junk food, Jean finishes his portion trying to figure out what to do next. “It’s still early. We could watch a movie, or speak about tomorrow’s training. If you were able to hold a decent conversation in English… Wait.” Jean unlocks his phone, opens Duolingo and moves his chair closer to Minami. “You could download this app and try starting the basic English training. Do you know it? It’ actually super-easy to use. And I’m sure you can switch it to Japanese.” He flips through the menu. 

“Rurowa...-san?”

“I’m kinda sure at least. Well. You should maybe keep it English anyway, that way you can practice your reading. Worked quite well for me and Mandarin. Just don’t get discouraged by that stupid green owl. If you don’t have time to practice, you just don’t, don’t let a bird dictate what you—”

“Rurowa-san.” Minami swallows hard, then his stomach makes the strangest sound: a mix between a birthing whale and rolling summer thunder. Minami burps. Loudly. 

(Gross.) 

“What the heck.” Jean is feeling sick already. “Do you need a glass of water or something?” he says, just to get up and away from Minami. The desperate look his houseguest throws him makes him uneasy, and he stops abruptly when his stupid brain finally understands what’s going on. “When you said you couldn’t eat cheese you— you weren’t referring to your general diet, were you?”

Minami shakes his head, whimpering and clutching his stomach, another horrifying whale noise rumbling through his intestines. 

“Minami?”

“Hnnn?”

“Are you, by any chance—” Jean swallows. “Are you lactose-intolerant?”

“Yes,” whines Minami.

“So why did you eat my food!?”

“You talking much… and in the fridge, soy milk…” Minami burps again. 

(Oh crap.)

(Like, literally.)

“Oh crap,” says Jean. Running his hand through his hair, he’s feeling hot and cold at the same time. A thousand thoughts tumble through his head, most of them circling around the fact that a), he’s a total idiot, and b), trying to figure out who—Katsuki? Mom? Bella? Jesus Christ, _Plisetsky_ —is going to murder him for what he did. 

Before Jean can decide who’s going to strike the final blow, Minami gets up, palms firmly put on the kitchen table. “To— toilet,” he hisses through gritted teeth. Sweat is glistening on his forehead. 

Jean watches Minami storm off; the door closes loudly. He’s has never been more thankful that their bathroom fan is so loud that you can’t hear much from the outside.

It’s their first day together and his guest is already shitting and/or vomiting his brains out. It’s like the one day Jean had to look after Ms. Kratky’s house cat and immediately after walking over and unlocking the front door, the stupid beast dashed through his legs and vanished into the night. He doesn’t want to be reminded of the bloody remains he found on the street the next morning and the awkward talk he had to have with his neighbour. Thank God she moved away a few months after. 

Bella should have done it. She takes care of their house plants and the goldfish and Jean as well. Jean is not that proficient in taking care of houseplants or goldfish or himself. 

In fact, when off his meds, Jean is simply not capable of taking care of anything.

Bella sits down next to him, touching his arm gently, and still making him flinch. “Hey. Where’s Minami? Have you made him something to eat?”

How long has she been there, watching Jean? He didn’t hear her come home and he can’t look at her. “I think I poisoned him,” he mumbles. Of course his fucking voice is breaking. 

Bella laughs. “Babe, your cooking is pretty bad, but not _that_ bad.”

“You don’t understand. He’s lactose-intolerant.”

“Well, I know that, and you know, too. Because I printed out that letter for you.” There’s silence, then Bella takes her hand away. “Which you didn’t read.” 

Jean shifts uncomfortably in his chair, jiggling his left foot, avoiding her face. “Which I didn’t read.” 

He knows exactly what she’ll look like: disappointed (very) and sad (very). He’s known her since they were in grade 9. She’s had many opportunities to be sad and disappointed over the years. “I’m sorry.” He wishes he could show her that he really is because he has a feeling she doesn’t buy it. “I stopped taking my meds.”

“Again? Oh, JJ.” Bella touches his arm. “I know you hate how they make you feel, but you know you shouldn’t—”

“I can’t be a brain-dead zombie the whole year round, Bella.” Shit, now he’s crying because after throwing his last bottle of Adderal away, he turned into a hyperactive squirrel who forgets to read notes, can’t listen and is a shitty person in general again because he’s only telling her half the truth. 

Angrily, he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. 

Since his breakdown at the Grand Prix Final a few years ago he’s been on and off meds. When he takes them, he’s more put together, more focused, but the longer he does, the more dull the world becomes until everything is grey, and the only way to get himself to feel anything is... to lay hand on himself.

God, even the thought of it makes him sick. 

When he noticed it for the first time, he googled the problem and found out an increased libido is a common side effect to ADHD medication, and ‘nothing to be ashamed of’. But no matter how often he tells himself that it’s not his mind, it’s the chemicals he’s feeding his body, it feels so dirty, and he can’t bring himself to confess to Father Adrian or Bella that he _needs_ to touch himself or he might explode.

The weird thing is that it’s a grave sin to not confess a sin. Hell is waiting for him, that much is sure. Guess he won’t die ever, and the problem is solved. 

(Ha.)

“I’m so sorry,” he says, and Bella sighs. 

A man can live some time in shame, but not forever. 

Every few months he really needs to feel like himself, not that strange version the drugs create, but the King JJ from the past, enthusiastic, and wild, and free, but able to control himself. He doesn’t know why he always thinks that messing with his brain chemistry helps to achieve that goal. 

“I’m a total failure.”

“You’re not a failure, JJ, and even if you were, I’d love you nonetheless. I’ll take care of this mess for now. Can you prepare me a hot water bottle in the meantime?”

Bella, always eager to help out. “Thanks, I’ll pay you back.”

“Nah. Just make sure to read my notes next time.”

Jean nods slowly. Everything for his fiancée.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UzSNXusaRosl) for JJ’s short program.


	3. Chapter 3

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been two days since my last confession.”

Father Adrian shifts behind the screen. “What is it you have done that couldn’t wait till next Sunday, son?”

(Too much.)

“I’ve been reckless, used a horrible swear word, ignored my fianceés wishes, and fed a guest food he could not digest properly.” 

“Well. Anything else?”

Jean swallows. He doesn’t want to continue, but he has to. What if he gets hit by a car when he steps out of church and has to confess all his horrible sins to God himself instead of friendly Father Adrian? Unthinkable. Better to get this over with. 

“I was angry at my fiancée, and at myself. I felt disgusted about my guest who was absolutely not to blame for the mess he made in the bathroom. Father, I fed him milk, but he’s actually lactose-intolerant, and so he started to sh—”

“No need to go into detail, Jean-Jacques,” Father Adrian hurries to say. “These are all grave sins, and you surely know that. Therefore I have to ask you: Is God still the center in your life?”

That’s a no-brainer. “Always.”

“And what does God want for you in your life?”

“For me to be his humble servant. For me to pray and do his work and do good.” To be good to Bella. To be a good son and sibling and rinkmate. To be good, period. Why is this so hard?

“And are you sorry for what you did?”

Sometimes Jean thinks he must have been a very bad person in his past life, for all the bullcrap he has to deal with drives not only him but also all his loved ones crazy. After Bella put Minami to bed, Jean stood around in front of the guest room, listened to Minami sobbing in Japanese on the phone and felt terrible about the fact that he was probably calling his trainers, telling them what a horrible person Jean was. It was then he decided he needed emergency confession and speed dialed for an appointment. 

Then, to make matters worse, Bella and he had to share a bed.

It was not a pleasant experience. Jean usually sleeps with the radio running because it tunes out all the thoughts in his brain, and Bella can’t sleep except it’s completely silent, which is one of the many reasons they stopped sharing a bed in the first place. Having to sleep in the same room was unpleasant, having a talk about Jean’s irresponsibility made things even worse, and there was also this feeling of remorse plaguing Jean even after Bella assured him she wasn’t mad at all.

The next morning before sunrise he hurried to the corner store to get earplugs and a big bouquet of red roses for Bella and some probiotic soy drink (and no flowers) for Minami. 

“About time,” Bella grumbled. “Read my notes next time, you jerk.”

“Thank you very much,” Minami said, accepted the package of soy drink with both hands and bowed in his seat, which was kinda cute.

(Very cute actually.)

(Especially with that orange bed head of his.)

“Jean-Jacques?”

Jean stares at the screen that separates him from the priest. “I am sorry for these and all the sins of my past life,” he hurries to say.

Father Adrian makes a strange sound between choking and harrumping. “God forgives you, as always. Pray ten Hail Marys, say hi to your mom and dad from me, and tell Therese-Theophila I missed her in church.”

(Nothing about Matt?)

(Of course not.)

“See you next week. Amen.”

“Amen.”

***

Minami is exactly where Jean left him—in the church garden, admiring the community-raised bed overgrown with tomatoes and basil, observing the dancing cabbage white butterflies whose caterpillars Jean’s family will kill after the next Sunday mass. Not every murder is a grave sin that makes you suffer in the eternal pits of hell. Sometimes Jesus wants you to commit genocide, especially when it’s about cabbage. 

Sometimes, life can be very confusing.

“Hey,” Jean says, and Minami turns and smiles and bows, a weird movement that is completely out of place here, just like himself. “Let’s go.”

He doesn’t wait for Minami but walks in the general direction of the rink. Emergency confession or not, they need to train today. Behind him he hears Minami’s hurried footsteps. 

(Better to slow down.)

(His legs are terribly short.)

(He’s basically a Japanese dachshund.) 

“Confession was well?” Minami asks.

Jean wants to roll his eyes in this terrible attempt to small talk but doesn’t because he doesn’t want to make a heel-face-turn and walk right back into that confession booth. “As always. I go every week, so it’s basic routine for me. I’m glad that Father Adrian had time to see me today. Usually he’s very busy with marriage seminars during the week, so… Maybe it’s because I’m just such a frequent customer, who knows. Are you hungry? We could get you something you can actually eat today. I promise you there won’t be surprise lactose in it.”

Jean feels the tug at his sleeve before he understands that Minami is the reason for it, and when he does, his heart and he stop in unison. 

“You go fast,” Minami says. His cheeks are burning.

(Adorable.)

“It’s not my fault you’re so tiny!” Jean barks, and regrets it immediately, because he knows it’s the lack of meds making him irritated, not that Minami said something true. “Sorry.” He stares at the hand that is fisting his sweat jacket. 

“Please, little slow.” God, Minami’s eyes are so dark, it’s like looking into an abyss.

While simultaneously trying to ignore how long Minami’s eyelashes are, Jean swallows. This is getting ridiculous. Minami is a grown-up man, not some damsel in distress, he’s got too much leg hair for that. “Walking or talking?”

“Both.”

(Oh.)

“I’ll try my best to be slower,” Jean says, and Minami lets go with a smile. 

They continue their way to the rink in silence. It’s not that Jean doesn’t want to talk, but he has just been told to shut it, so he’s alone with his thoughts and his guest who yesterday evening babbled on the phone as if there was no tomorrow. It was a strange contrast to the short sentences Minami’s uttering in English, and for the very first time since his arrival, Jean gets a feeling of how hard it must be for Minami not to be able to express himself properly.

“I’m very sorry for what I did.”

“I know,” Minami says. “I forgive you. Eventually.”

( _I forgive you. Eventually_.)

(Did he look that up in a dictionary?)

The rink is almost empty in the morning, and the locker rooms contain that special smell of old sweat and rubber soles Jean simultaneously loves and hates. They change into their skating gear without looking at each other. What would there be to see anyway? They’re both lean, train every day; defined muscles are what skaters are made of. 

Jean finishes first and walks out of the cabin with his skates over his shoulder. He is also the first to start with warming up, just some basic stretches that continue his before-breakfast regime to get him into the right condition for training.

From the corner of his eyes Jean notices that Minami is more flexible than he is, but he’s also not as broad as Jean and also trains with Yuri I-can-scratch-the-back-of-my-head-with-my-big-toe Plisetsky. His calves are nice to look at, Jean decides, almost as nice as _Toronto_Loco_ ’s. He also likes Minami’s training hairstyle, a messy half-bun on the top of his head that he can only get away with because he’s an androgynous face and that special Asian hair. Just imagining trying the same hairstyle makes Jean snort.

Minami stops in his movement and looks over to him, and something in his face is so intense that Jean just starts talking again to make the weirdness stop. “Sorry, I was just thinking about getting a man bun. And it would be a total disaster, don’t you agree? I mean, I would look like an idiot. Not that you look like an idiot, quite the opposite, I really like—”

“Rurowa-san.”

Oh God, all that rambling. He didn’t miss that when he was still on his meds. “Stop calling me that after… Well, after yesterday. Call me JJ. Or Jean. Or Jean-Jacques. And, sorry for… for everything, I guess, in case you haven’t noticed I’m sorry yet.” Jean makes a helpless shrug.

Minami looks at him, visibly processing everything, and, after some more awkward silence, takes it with a toothy grin. “Slow, Jann-Jakk-san.” He’s trying to wrap his tongue around the alien pronunciation of Jean’s name and fails terribly. “I am slow. Please.”

“I’ll try,” Jean says. In the last few minutes, this sentence has become 50% of what he says. “Want to start training now? I bet you can teach me a thing or two.”

***

It is both confusing and frightening how Minami’s personality changes on the ice when he’s the one to give orders. His voice is still sweet, but adamant. His catchphrase is “Once more, please”. It sounds polite enough and he’s still smiling and bowing and gesticulating a lot, but Jean soon realizes Minami doesn’t ever give him a choice to answer back or say no. It’s simply impossible when he’s asked to repeat a jump combination or the fiftieth time in such a _nice_ way and Minami himself doesn’t show any signs of being tired at all. 

(Well, he’s Katsuki’s student after all.)

“Jann-Jakk-san, once more,” Minami says. “More feeling with the flute.” To underline this, he shows his version of Jean’s step sequence. Jean almost turns white with shame at how good, how natural it looks when Minami executes it. It’s as if he was floating over the ice, like an overexcited ice fairy. 

Not that Jean believes in fairies. 

But if fairies existed, they’d surely have orange hair and crooked teeth.

“Ready? You try hard, you manage.”

Jean snaps out of his thoughts and raises his arms to get into position again. And again. And again. His politely strict teacher smiles at him and praises him, but Jean has this feeling Minami’s never fully content with what he’s doing. 

(Matt was exactly like him.) 

“Once more,” Minami says. 

When it’s finally noon and time for lunch, Jean is drenched in sweat and his stomach growls like Grandpa Yang after his hip replacement surgery. The thing is that Minami does not even look remotely worn out, which is totally impudent. Stupid Asians and their fewer apocrine sweat glands. 

Although he can’t really be blamed for his genes, Jean gives Minami the stink eye. “At least I can drink two beers without being completely wasted.” 

Minami looks at him with wide eyes. “We cannot drink beer!” he exclaims. “Mum kills us!”

“Who’s going to kill whom?” Mom asks when he enters the rink with Theo and Simon-Samuel in their training gear on her heels. Simon-Samuel is ignoring Jean completely, but at least he has the courtesy to nod at Minami, who shortly bows in his and Theo’s direction and then does a perfect 90-degree bow for Jean’s mom. 

Theo waves at Jean, who waves back with a completely straight face while internally dying. “Hi people.” Why does his mother have the superpower of always appearing in the worst possible moment? It’s like that time during Lent when she decided that all of them had to abstain from sugar for the 40-day period. Jean managed 30, and on the 31st day she caught him elbow-deep in the cookie jar. “We were talking about Ms. Baranovskaya, right, Minami?”

Praise the Lord and all his angels, Minami for once is thinking quickly. “Yes, very strict woman. She not allows sloppy presentation. She would kill Jann-Jakk-san.” 

“Yeah, my son is a _very_ sloppy presenter,” Mom says.

Her cool gaze over the rim of her steaming Starbucks cup makes Jean shudder. There might be a major scolding afterwards when nobody is around. 

Maybe, just maybe, Jean’ll just kill Minami; he has a lie to confess next Sunday anyway, why not make it a lie and a murder? Father Adrian can’t tell anyone anyway because of confessional secret. Does this mean Jean could slaughter someone, tell his priest and be atoned of his sins? 

He has to look into that matter later.

Theo clears her throat. “JJ? I think you should go get lunch. The rink is ours now.”

“Ah. Thanks. Yeah, we should go. Let’s go.” Jean grabs his things and flees the scene, Minami his short-legged shadow. 

A tug on his sleeve reminds him to slow down in front of the changing rooms. “Shower?” 

Jean has the sudden urge to hug him, to press him close and tell him that he did fine with that white lie, but of course he does nothing of it because he’s no maniac and he’s also still sweaty as if he’d woken up in the ninth circle of Hell. “Shower, definitely.”

***

In the cafeteria over poached chicken breast and steamed cauliflower (blergh), Jean can’t stop thinking about Minami’s naked bubble butt. Not that he got a good look, it was pretty steamy in the hot shower and of course he would never stare, he’s no fudging homo. But these glutes are pretty well defined. 

He’s quite sure he’s allowed to think that, even as a devout Christian. Men can appreciate other men’s beautiful bodies, can’t they? Isn’t it like admiring a delicate flower or a kitten with soft fur?

(No, this doesn’t seem right.) 

“I like more the noodles,” Minami says. “What you make.”

“Well, you’re not getting them again,” Jean says. “We don’t need another case of explosive diarrhea.”

Minami sighs and rolls around a cauliflower floret on his plate. Everything they’ve been served is a sad shade of grey. “A pity.”

As always, the cafeteria is packed with people. Some nod at Jean when they pass his table, some of the younger skaters seem to recognize Minami. Two girls throw looks at Jean while simultaneously checking their phones. Jean wouldn’t be surprised if a picture of him and Minami would find his way into their Instagram feed. Jean looks super handsome after his shower after all, and Minami can also not be described as ugly. He’s actually kinda cute, especially with those prominent cheekbones and the golden glow of his skin. 

Not that Jean cares at all.

When he’s finished, Minami puts down his fork. “I can talk more if you ask me things,” he says, voice firm, eyes fixed. He surely has practiced this sentence in his room at Jean’s. Maybe Plisetsky helped him.

(Stupid Plisetsky.)

“I need practice. I am not dumb, I only can not English. And I am slow.”

“You’re not slow on the ice,” Jean says, just to say anything. “And not speaking a language well is hard.” Their misunderstanding has shown him that much. Not that he’s got real first-hand experience apart from a few events abroad where he couldn’t communicate in either English or the French he learned at school, but he liked listening to Grandma Yang’s stories when she was still alive, how hard it was to adapt to Canada, also because of the language barrier. Jean could have related to Minami’s situation if he really tried.

Why hasn’t he tried before?

It’s very likely that he’d have to work with clients from all around the world later. Having the attitude that other people are stupid when they can’t speak English won’t help to be successful. The realization makes shame burn in his chest. 

(Stupid, stupid, stupid.)

“You learn Japanese. Makes things easier,” Minami says. 

“I guess I could do that.” 

“You use DuoLingo. A friend told me. I use it to learn English, check it out!”

It’s a joke. Minami is trying to making a joke. “Have you really already downloaded the app?” 

A quick nod follows. 

“Cool. Show me.”

Maybe this can work. 

***

It’s a few exhausting training days and an evening in the soup kitchen at the homeless shelter later Minami announces over breakfast he wants to cook. Bella happily agrees to drive him to T&T for Japanese groceries in the evening, but tells Jean she won’t be here for the actual event. “That’s your time to get to know him better. He’s _your_ guest, after all.”

“You want some alone time at the gym,” Jean says, stirring his skyr. “This stuff tastes like cardboard.”

Bella laughs. “Down with it, it’s nutritious. And yes, I want some alone time at the gym.”

He’s getting better at reading her mood every year. 

Theo always says he has to work even harder, to give his relationship the 100% he gives the ice. “You should always know what’s wrong. She’s your best friend. She’s your fianceé. You’re going to marry when you make gold this year.”

(Well, that’s the problem, they’re actually not.)

Bella leaves for the gym or cocktails with her girlfriends or something else, who on earth knows. She has her own life and can go wherever she pleases, because that’s part of their deal. It’s not that he’s upset about her leaving. This is going to be a piece of cake.

The night starts out nice. Jean is simultaneously solving a crossword puzzle and scrolling through his social media while Minami flips through the kitchen in search of salt, sugar and the soba noodles Bella and he bought before. 

“What is it you’re making again?”

“Zaru Soba!” Minami exclaims happily, as if this was explaining anything at all. 

“I see,” Jean says and returns to his crossword puzzle. Strange salty and fishy fumes waft through the kitchen while Minami is humming a cute little tune and stirring dipping sauce in the tiniest saucepan he could find. He’s wearing one of Bella’s frilly aprons and his pink slippers. Seeing him fuzzing over the pots like a housewife is strangely domestic. 

(Wait, what?)

“Soon done!” The next step in the cooking process seems to be to rinse the thin noodles and Jean gets up to get a closer look. It’s interesting to watch the soba run through Minami’s long fingers. 

“This takes quite long.”

Minami rubs the noodles together tenderly and a murky liquid comes out. “You be careful with them. It taste better.”

“But they’re going to be cold.” Jean eyes the bowl of ice water on the counter. “Cold noodles are an abomination. Noodles should be hot and have cheese on them.”

Minami looks up from the colander. “‘Abomineishun’?”

“Erm, like a sin. When you do something wrong.”

“You will see! Cold soba is best!”

Minami is polite, as always, but he’s headstrong. Like on the ice, he shows that if he has an idea about something, he doesn’t back up—at all. So apparently cold noodles it is. Jean can’t help but shudder.

A few minutes later, he shudders again, but of pleasure, because Jesus, this is some good food. It’s impossible to eat them though, they’re too long and too slippery. Jean is not able to slurp them as gracefully as Minami does and splatters the dipping sauce everywhere. 

“Shoot!”

Minami snorts. 

“Don’t you dare to laugh. You almost shat your pants after eating my food,” Jean growls and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Minami snorts again. “You are funny.”

Is Jean funny? He’s never really thought about it. When Theo was younger, she thought he was the funniest person ever, and even Simon-Samuel loved playing with him then. Of course, the twins adored him too, but they were basically babies, and babies adore everyone. It was an easier time where nobody thought he was weird for being unable to sit still while babbling constantly. Before he was sent to Colorado Springs to train with Leo and things turned sour when dad took him to the team medic and he got diagnosed. 

Then he got sent home, and his parents were so disappointed, and then Matt—

(No.)

(Don’t think about Matt now.)

(Not after what happened.)

“Was it rude?” Minami asks.

“Hn?”

“When I say you are funny.”

“No, don’t worry, man. I was just thinking about… about something. Someone, actually.” It’s easy to say this to Minami, who only understands half of what he’s saying and is still trying so hard to please for a reason Jean can’t yet see. “It’s just that my mom seems to be unhappy with me, especially as I don’t win gold, and apart from Theo, my siblings don’t really care any longer. My family is not good with different, and I’m… I don’t know. This doesn’t make sense.”

Minami puts down his chopsticks. “You are funny. You can show more in skating. You try hard. But you are holding back?” He wipes his mouth with a paper napkin. Jean follows the line of his slender hand to his full lips. “You can more than you show. Your mother know.”

How annoying. “What do you know about my mother, you’ve been here for just a few days.” Jean might’ve snapped at most other people, but strangely enough, it’s getting harder and harder to be mean to Minami. 

(Why is that?)

“Why do you think you understand?”

It’s almost painful to watch Minami search for the right words. “My parents want me to become doctor like big brother Shinya. Be like brother,” he says, cheeks turning red. “But I act stupid. I want to skate. You act stupid, too?”

“Jesus Christ.” Of all people who could’ve come here, God had to send him Kenjirou Minami, the only one who sees right through his schemes. Is it a blessing or a curse? Jean doesn’t know yet, and he doesn’t want to answer Minami’s question. “You’re not stupid at all, you know. Or slow. And you’re a damn fine skater.”

(And confusingly handsome, even in a frilly apron.) 

“I watch you skate. I know you can better. I cannot help you do better if… if you are like this.” Minami inhales, reaches out his hand and takes Jean’s. He smiles, of course he does. “Let me help.” His calloused fingers brush over Jean’s knuckles. “Eventually, I make things better.”

It feels like someone punched him in the gut and simultaneously tenderly caressed his thing, because he’s definitely feeling as if he’s about to puke and explode at the same time. Thank God for Bella’s obsession with table linens. 

Jean snatches his hand back as if he’s got burned by a hot pan. 

He’s kissed Bella a million times, and at the beginning of their relationship, they messed around, but he’s never experienced anything like this before. 

Is this the feeling all the novels and movies and series talk about? The ache in his chest, the tug in his pants, the need to touch and hug and—

“I am sorry,” Minami says, a hurt look on his face. He’s hiding his hands in his lap. 

(Shoot.)

“No, no, don’t apologize! I was just surprised!“ It’s hard to shuffle everything back in its place when you mustn’t touch yourself, but thinking about drowned puppies does the trick to soften everything again. “Thanks, buddy, I’ll try. But… But you must let me help as well, okay? We can’t let your parents win.”

“The Axel,” Minami grumbles. His face is so grim that Jean can’t help but laugh nervously. 

***

Later however, when he’s alone in bed, he’s still thinking about Minami’s hands. When was the last time another man who was not his relative touched him? He honestly can’t remember, and something about it is so painful that his fingers wander down his boxers automatically before he even knows what’s going on. 

(That’s a lie.)

So this is it. He’s going to touch himself for the first time since he stopped taking his meds. 

He should definitely stop and pray instead. Just a few lines of the Litany of Chastity to calm him down again. Just a few lines—

Just a few strokes and Jean’s harder than he’s been in a very long time. He brushes the tip of his thing and discovers in awe it’s leaking already, and although it’s a bit disgusting, rubbing over the head feels so divine Jean wants to cry. Instead, he grabs himself harder and flinches when blood gets pumped down there, and then he spits into his hand and increases his speed.

When he comes with a forbidden curse on his lips, it’s with a picture of Minami’s glutes and his smile in his mind, and his crooked teeth, and his way of pronouncing Jean’s name in that unique way. Even after, when he lies there soiled and wasted, Jean can’t stop thinking about how Minami’s voice would become husky and needy when Jean touches him as he’s touched himself right now.

“I’m damned,” he whispers when he realizes that after _this_ , he’s surely going straight to hell. No amount of Hail Marys and Lord’s prayers can make this ever right again, because he’s like _him_ , and he knows what that means. 

With trembling fingers, he takes a few tissues out of the box from the nightstand and hastily cleans his stomach, his fingers, his soft thing that feels like a dead slug. 

He pushes the tissue deep down into the trash where nobody will ever find it.


	4. Chapter 4

Watching Minami eat protein porridge should be disgusting—porridge is the absolute worst—but seeing the slimy substance vanish between his lips while he’s trying to make sense of today’s news is totally weird. Actually, it’s so weird Bella tenderly kicks him under the table. “You’re staring,” she whispers. 

Jean turns his attention back to his breakfast of fat-free Greek yoghurt and scrambled eggs. “I’m not,” he mutters. Bella mustn’t know. Last night, it was hard enough to keep his mouth shut when she came home soon after what he… what he did, and what he wanted to do this morning too, under the shower. It’s getting harder and harder not to, pun totally intended, but he can’t do this again, not after all the shame ever since. 

Jesus Christ, it has been three days. He’s been praying for it to end but he won’t be delivered. 

Something must be wrong with his brain. 

(Well, that was common knowledge _before_.)

“I’m definitely not.”

“If you say so, honey,” Bella says. She’s finished with her cereal, gets up and kisses Jean on the top of his head. Today must be faculty meetings, she’s wearing the purple suit that instantly makes her look a hundred percent more professional. “See you in the evening, Minami. Make sure to wear my fiancée out!”

“I will!” Minami says and gives her the peace sign. 

Jean’s treacherous thing flinches again. 

(Drowned puppies, drowned puppies, drowned puppies.)

***

Minami is easy to train, much easier than the kids Jean usually works with. When he falls, he gets up again quickly and without complaining. When he’s understood the instructions, he tries his best to do exactly what Jean asks him to. The rest of his program looks fine already, there’s just a bit of fine-tuning necessary. It won’t be long until he’ll master the triple Axel. 

If only Jean was so quick to understand.

He’s hiding off the ice, as far away from Minami as possible, but still near enough to monitor his progress. On the other side of the rink a group of juniors is doing warm-up laps. “Once more!” Jean shouts, more to impress them than to motivate Minami. “Practice makes perfect!”

It’s a joy to watch Minami skate. Not long in the future, he’ll be unstoppable; everything he does shows that one of the best skaters of the century is his coach. He’s graceful, light on his feet, elegant.

(He’s beautiful.)

“God, he’s dreamy.” Theo moves next to Jean. She’s here to skate in her free skate costume for the new season for the first time; it’s more frilly than her usual outfits and might complicate her movement, but it’s the first time she was allowed to design it on her own, so she’ll have to live with it. Also, her jumps are still lacking, so mom told her to come and learn. 

The only thing she’s learned so far, Jean muses, is to ogle Minami in his tight training gear without any shame. He doesn’t like it one bit. “You should get on the ice, Muffin. Just standing here staring won’t do anything. It’s also not very chaste.”

Theo rolls her eyes and tugs on the lace sleeves of the pink, lavender, and blue dress. “What do you know. Also, sushi chef apprentices aren’t allowed to cut their own fish for _years_!”

“Well, I don’t see any fish around here. Onto the ice with you!”

Minami stops in his movement and skates closer, taking off his gloves to wipe his forehead. Not that there is any sweat to wipe away. “Everything okay?”

Jean pushes Theo gently in the direction of the ice. “Yeah, just continue and ignore her. She’s a nuisance, that’s all.”

“‘Nuh-sance’?” 

“It’s like abomination.”

“JJ!” whines Theo.

“Move,” says Jean. 

She moves.

Jean barks a quick order for her to warm up. Theo huffs, but does what he says. He can’t remember the last time he had the possibility to just stand there and watch her skate. This must be the reason why he hasn’t realized ‘til now how much she’s grown—and not only in terms of height. Not long ago, she was this cute toddler Jean could carry on his shoulders and hide behind his legs. When did she turn into such a confident young woman? He’ll have to make sure that no boy can do her any harm but honestly doubts that she’ll need his help. 

They’ve always been in sync with each other, and it only takes a few words and gestures for her to move the way Jean wants her to. It’s like conducting a one-person-orchestra, and it’s easy to get lost in Theo’s graceful movements and the swirl of purple, blue and pink of her outfit. In a few years, the Katsuki-Nikiforovs and their apprentices will be in great danger because of her. 

“Great,” Minami says. He leans back to the boards and smiles at Jean. “Good work.”

“Theo’s my mom’s work.”

“Not before. Now.”

Jean doesn’t answer right away, but with Minami it’s easy not to say anything for a while, because he usually needs a while to process things himself. He’s different than most other people Jean spends time with, those people who are quick to answer and quick to anger. Minami is just _there_ , he’s beautiful and confusing, and his clipped sentences are open for interpretation.

If he wants to say Jean does a good job, then maybe it’s time Jean’s to accept the compliment.

“Thanks, I guess.” 

“You are welcome,” Minami says. He pushes away from the boards, gains speed and jumps. 

His landing is wobbly and he almost falls, but it’s a triple Axel.

Minami’s face when he understands what he’s just accomplished is the funniest thing ever, he’s all eyes and comically open mouth, and then he cheers and shouts something in Japanese and hugs Theo. The juniors from the other side of the rink start cheering and applauding. 

Jean is on the ice before he knows it, slithering around in his sneakers and wrapping his arms around Minami and Theo until it’s hard to tell where one body begins and the other one ends. 

“You did it!” shrieks Theo, jumping up and down.

It makes Jean’s ears ring and his heart swell with pride. He leans in to bury his nose in Minami’s hair that smells of Jean’s shampoo and something that is distinctively Minami. “Well done,” Jean mumbles. 

Minami shifts, his bottom brushing against Jean’s crotch. 

(Jesus, help.)

(This can’t be happening.)

Can you will your thing soft again? Not in this position, you can’t, but lately, Jean has been wearing two sets of the tightest briefs he could find, so at least he doesn’t have a giant tent in his pants. 

(From the enticement of immodest clothing, deliver me, O Lord.   
From the enticement of an attractive face, deliver me, O Lord.   
From the enticement of a well-shaped physique, deliver me, O Lord.   
From the enticement of bare flesh, deliver me, O Lord.   
From the enticement of erotic thoughts, deliver me, O Lord.)

Thank God for prayers. 

Jean lets go of the two people in front of him. “You two, continue practicing. Once doesn’t count, Minami. You have to be able to execute the jump every time or you haven’t mastered it yet.” 

Yeah, going back into coaching mode definitely helps a bit, as does to bring physical distance between himself and the object of his lustful thoughts. 

“And Muffin, you haven’t managed the jump yet. I want to see you practicing hard! You can’t fall behind your peers!” 

“Stop calling me that!” Theo wails. 

Jean’s safe on his spot behind the boards. He can survive this, but something, anything must happen right now or he’ll turn mad. He fights the sudden urge to scream. Only that there are juniors around who would surely talk about it keeps him from doing so.

(Maybe another confession would be good?)

(No.)

Jean’s fingers claw the rails.

(What’s happening is impossible to confess.)

Matt would know what to do. Matt always knew, when Jean showed the first symptoms as a kid, and when their parents wouldn’t acknowledge there was something wrong to the aftermath of his first anxiety attack during the grand prix final. Matt, always the voice of reason.

Why did it have to end like that?

(Because Matt’s a sinner.)

(But he’s not the only one.)

“JJ?” Theo’s hand on his shoulder is as light as a rose petal. 

Jean looks up. His vision is all blurry. “You finished?”

“Yeah. Minami is already in the shower. JJ… Why are you crying?”

“I’m not,” Jean mumbles. Moisture is dropping off his nose. What a drag. “Boys don’t cry.”

“What a load of bullcrap,” Theo says, and Jean can’t even be shocked about it. “Come.”

In the storage room, she hands him a tissue, waits until he’s blown his nose and dried his eyes, and sits down with him on a bench, and waits. Jean wants to tell her that he’s grateful she doesn’t pressure him to say anything, and that she’s more grown up than anyone in their family gives her credit for, and that he loves her, but he can’t do any of these things, not now. Not when he feels so ashamed and so lost and so lonely although he has all these people who love and respect him. 

(But they aren’t Matt and so they won’t understand.)

“I was thinking about him,” Jean eventually says, because right now it’s the easiest thing to admit to his favourite kid sister. He doesn’t need to say who he’s talking about. “I think I need him. I’m not ready to be the oldest brother.”

She huffs. “You realize that he’s not dead, right? You can call him if you want. Or visit him.”

“But it’s as if he was.” 

_If you can’t stop living like that, I have to ask you to leave. Your lifestyle is ruining this family._ Mom’s voice was so cold, and dad didn’t say anything, as so often nowadays. _When you’re ready to be normal again, we’re here._

 _That’s not going to happen,_ Matt had said. 

_Then leave,_ she’d answered. 

Theo jumps up, throwing her arms into the air. She looks so much like mum it hurts. “He likes men, for God’s sake, and he’s in love! There’s nothing wrong with that! Jesus fucking Christ—”

“Theo!”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with this family! Why can’t you people just accept that there are others who just want to live their lives in peace and not shame themselves for what they feel and think! Didn’t Jesus himself love all the people? Didn’t he wash the feet of his followers? Didn’t he eat with Zacchaeus? Didn’t he help the outcast and the sick? Why would someone who follows his teachings hate a single group of people just because they’re a tiny bit different? I don’t understand this, JJ! I mean—”

“Theo!!”

“WHAT!?”

“I think… I think I’m like him. Oh God.” Jean buries his burning face in his hands. It must be the lack of meds making him blabber. “This… No. You weren’t supposed to know. Nobody was supposed to know. I’m sorry... I—”

“Oh. Oh, JJ. Oh crap.”

He knows he’s the next who’s going to be outcast of this family. Mom and the rest of his family never ever speak of Matt, which is the strangest thing when you think about it because they don’t hate Katsuki or Nikiforov or the mothers of the Christiansen girls the twins go to boarding school with. But when Matt came out, it was the end of the world for Mom, and because it was the end of the world for her, it was the end of the world for the rest of the family, too. 

Well, for everyone except Theo, apparently.

“You can’t tell anyone, ever.” Jean stares her down with burning eyes, putting all his brotherly authority in it. His hands are as cold as if he’d stayed outside too long without gloves in February. His intestines are somersaulting. 

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise. Pinky swear.” Theo looks so determined to keep her secret, Jean wants to hug her. He presses her fingers instead and tries a wavering smile she swiftly returns. 

“Jann-Jakk-san? Tecchan?” 

“Fuck,” Theo hisses. She jumps up from the bench to hurry to the door, only turning before she opens it. “Dry your face, you look like shit.”

Instead of scolding her for two swear words in a row, Jean does what he’s told, wiping snot and tears off his face with the sleeve of his tracksuit jacket. Minami can’t see him like this. He can’t know about any of this, not if Jean wants to save face.

He gets up and strolls to the door where Theo is obviously trying to shield a tiptoeing Minami from peeking into the storage room. “Don’t worry, buddy, I’m fine. It’s just low blood sugar. Theo wanted to save me the embarrassment to collapse in front of the juniors.”

Minami nods and smiles as if he understood any of these words. “Sugar make diabetes!”

Jean doesn’t know how to respond to that. “Yeah… right, I guess.”

“We should get lunch,” Theo says. 

***

Today’s offer is turkey sandwich with salad, tomato and pickles. The chef has even sneaked in some mustard Jean is grateful for, because it means he won’t suffocate on the dry ingredients. He washes the bites down with a glass of low-fat chocolate milk, which gives him a disgusted look from Minami. Poor boy and his fitness drink, he doesn’t know what he’s missing out on. 

They’re sitting next to the glass front, air conditioning blasting above their heads. Outside, the air is shimmering in the street. If they weren’t going to the gym in the afternoon, they could take a trip to the nearest lake and just lie there like dead fish on the shore, getting a perfect tan. 

(Impossible.) 

“How long will you be staying, Minami?” Theo says between two bites of her sandwich.

Jean raises an eyebrow. She knows perfectly well how long Minami will be here and when he’s leaving.

“One more week. I did the Axel!”

“Yeah, you did, buddy,” Jean says automatically, and fortunately can stop himself from praising Minami with a _good boy_ like some lap dog. It’s hard though when he’s basically bouncing on his chair, waiting for approval. 

Better that he’s child-like and sickly sweet than anything else.

“So what did you like best so far?” Theo asks.

“I do not know. The ice rink?”

“JJ! Has this poor boy not seen anything of our beautiful country?”

“Stop being so fake-outraged. You know perfectly well he’s not on vacation here, Muffin.”

“But you must take your student on field trips! Haven’t you learned anything at uni?”

Jean wants to tell her he’s learned a lot, like standard first aid, how to write a meal plan, and cellular physiology. “I didn’t know that field trips are an effective part of training.”

“Field trip, field trip!” Minami exclaims happily. 

Jean takes a sip of his chocolate milk. “But we _are_ doing field trips. He helped me in the soup kitchen Friday afternoon.” 

“Yes! Give soups to bum was fun!” 

Theo crosses her arms before her chest. “That’s not a field trip, that’s child labour. He’s been exploiting you.”

Well, technically Minami is a grown-up, even in Japan, but arguing with Theo is useless anyway. She wouldn’t believe that Minami really enjoyed feeding the homeless with red lentil stew.

“What is ‘ex-puroi-ting’?”

“Don’t listen to her, Minami. Also, we call them ‘homeless people’ to be respectful.”

“Aye aye, sensei!” Minami says and salutes. “Field trip next Saturday?” 

“That’s a great idea, actually.” Theo is totally on board with the idea, her shining eyes are proof enough. “We both know you could need some time off.”

Jean growls. “You two just don’t want to train, do you?”

“Maybe?” Minami says nonchalantly, giving Jean the idea that he and Theo planned this whole conversation. “Maybe we do it for you. Eventually, you know.” 

(Would it hurt to take him on a trip?)

(It could be dangerous. _He’s_ dangerous.) 

(Better not to be alone with him any more.)

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” No way Jean can continue like this. It’s only a week. He can survive a week without sinning anymore when he just keeps his distance and this relationship on a purely professional level.

( _Relationship._ )

(Jesus.)

“God, you’re bo-ring.” Theo touches Minami’s arm. “ _I_ could take you on a trip if he doesn’t want to.” 

“But I guess a little trip never hurt nobody,” Jean says. 

Minami throws his hands in the air. “Wohooo! Field trip! Field trip!”

Mother Mary, he needs professional help.

***

It’s a one-and-a-half hour drive to the Niagara Falls and Jean uses all the time he gets on the backseat of Theo’s ratty car to try to nap because after this week, he needs it. He’s always rested best off his meds when it’s not absolutely silent. Minami and Theo’s excited voices and the hum of the motor pull him into a deep calm he hasn’t felt in ages.

The last few days were exhausting, with Minami pushing him to his limits after he managed to land the Axel successfully a few more times. Jean, however, still can’t deliver his program in the natural, relaxed state Minami and mom expect of him. Something is holding him back. 

(Someone.)

“You will manage eventually,” Minami always says. ‘Eventually’ is a word he likes and uses a lot. 

“Eventually you succeed.”

“Eventually you understand.” 

“Eventually your body obey.”

He doesn’t judge at all when Jean flukes Katsuki’s awful step sequence, he just makes him repeat it over and over until Jean can’t feel his feet, begs for mercy, and Minami asks him for one more try with a smile. He’s never too tired to show Jean how it’s done right. 

By picking the weirdest words for his ever-growing vocabulary Jean half-heartedly pays him back: politeness, gargantuan, ubermensch.

(Adorable.)

(Godda—)

“How much longer, Minami?”

“We arrive eventually, Tecchan!”

Theo makes a gargling noise. She’s not the most practiced driver but Jean refuses to play the chauffeur when he doesn’t even want to do this so-called field trip.

However, he won’t let her panic. “You know that you’re in charge of navigation, don’t you?” he says with closed eyes.

“Master navigator Minami Kenjirou!! It’s me!!”

Theo snorts.

“Look at Google Maps and tell her how long it’ll take to reach our destination,” Jean says.

For a few moments, there’s only the sound of the engine and Jean’s own heartbeat as he’s imagining Minami staring at the screen of his phone, pink tongue between his lips. In his head, he doesn’t look much different to when he tries to decipher the morning newspaper. 

(From the enticement of feeling erotic arousal, deliver me, oh Lord.)

“It will be 15 minutes to arrive! You take next exit!” Minami exclaims. “Please drive safe!”

“I’ll try really hard not to drive us into the next tree,” Theo says. 

“Wohooo!!”

This means 15 minutes to pray, calm down, and practice a stance of relaxed nonchalance. 

***

Who is Jean even kidding? Minami’s childlike excitement over the waterfall is the best thing ever. He wishes Bella was not visiting her parents but here to see it, because it’s impossible not to smile while he’s taking a million pictures, bouncing up and down at the observation post, hands firmly gripped around the bannisters, pointing at the masses of water, and babbling constantly. 

Which is exactly the reason why Jean has to get away from him.

“So much water! Watch! It is like swallow of big hole!”

“I _have_ to videotape this. Please tell me I can videotape this,” Theo whispers. 

Her puppy eyes are impossible to resist, so Jean nods quickly. “Wait until we do the tour. He’ll crap his pants in excitement.” 

“Jesus, I hope he doesn’t.” Quickly, Theo unlocks her phone and opens the camera app. “Why is it you won’t join us again?”

“I want to give you two lovebirds the chance to be alone.”

“Haha.”

“You know I’ve done the tour like three hundred times.” When Jean was a kid, his parents made his brothers and him walk down the slippery stairs so often he could walk them in his sleep. He knows each damp crevice, each spot to take a picture. There are so many of him still in his parents’ house, first on his own, then with his siblings. 

There are none of Matt.

(What did mom do with them?)

Jean stopped going on the cave tours after the twins were born.

(She threw them away, didn’t she?)

“Will you be okay on your own?” Theo says. She waves at Minami to come closer. He waves back with two hands like a little kid, cheeks red. His hair doesn’t take the moisture too well, it’s becoming strangely wavy. 

All of a sudden, Jean’s gut starts tingling again. “Yeah, sure. I’m capable of being alone.”

“Who is alone?” Minami asks, stepping closer. 

“Me, later. When you do the tour. I’ll sit in that cafe over there and get myself some tea.” Maybe he’ll even add a drop of full-fat milk because he feels a bit irrational today.

“Not alone!” Minami’s voice is so compassionate that Jean makes a mental note to teach him the difference between ‘lonely’ and ‘alone’ in the near future. “Come with us! I want pictures! Let’s be together!” 

(And the different notions of ‘being together’.) 

“Seems as if the little one wants you to tag along, JJ.” 

“I am not little! See!” On his toes, Minami’s almost as tall as Theo. “I am like a bear! Jann-Jakk-san, you come!”

“Yes, JJ, please come”, Theo flutes and bats her eyelashes. 

“You are two annoying little… people, you know that, right?” 

Of course Jean’s tagging along. 

Of course he’s paying for all of their tickets. 

Of course it’s awesome in the caves, it always is and always will be.

(Even without Matt.)

The waterfalls are even more striking when you’re that close to them, and jumping through the puddles in their borrowed sandals is the best. They all make fun of their misshaped skater toes, with Jean having the weirdest big toenail after years of torturing his feet. Minami looks adorable in his rain poncho, especially when dripping wet. Theo takes a thousand pictures of him until she almost drops her phone into the abyss. They’re sending Bella a hundred selfies from the caves and get selfies with her parents and grandparents, who obviously have no idea how to pose for pictures, in return. 

The tingling feeling in Jean’s stomach never leaves. 

After the tour, they drink tea in one of the fancier cafés. Minami is so tired he can’t keep his eyes open, and when they drive back home, he falls asleep on the back seat as soon as Theo starts the engine.

“Thanks, JJ. It was great to do something together. We should go on roadtrips more often,” Theo says. “You know, even you deserve some fun from time to time. Minami was right about that.”

(So it was his idea after all.)

“Well, thank _you_.” Theo might not realize it yet, but the better she gets on the ice, the less time she’s going to have for fun rides like these. Well, she’ll find out soon enough, she’s no little girl anymore. “You don’t have to whisper. He’s out like a light.” 

(And snoring adorably, by the way.)

Theo steers her rust-heap onto Queen Elizabeth Way, concentrating on changing the gears correctly and still making them creak like old metal pipes. “Whoopsie!”

A quick look back shows Jean that Minami didn’t even move a centimeter. “You got this. Driving stick is hard, but you’ll manage.”

“ _Eventually_ ,” Theo says, mimicking Minami’s voice.

They’re both silent for a while. Then, Theo says: “He’s pretty cute, isn’t he?”

Maybe it’s the 190 kilometers ahead of them, maybe it’s because they are on their own, maybe it’s something else, Jean doesn’t know. 

(Doesn’t care.)

But in this moment it feels safe to nod—only once, and quickly, and in a way that Theo might not notice.

“Glad we went,” she says and turns on the radio. 

Jean looks out of the window, into the twilight. The station Theo picked is playing some song about a man loving a woman and wanting to be together forever. A few weeks ago, he would’ve sung along.

(Not anymore.) 

“Thanks for being there for me, Muffin” he says. 

“Anytime.”


	5. Chapter 5

Theo stops the car when it’s getting dark, and the night birds start to sing in the sycamore tree in front of Jean’s house. The lights are out. Either Bella is sleeping already or she isn’t home yet. 

Jean unplugs his seating belt with Minami still snoring in the back seat. “Buddy, we’re home.” 

Slowly, Minami wakes, yawns, wipes the drool of off his face, stretches himself, blinks, yawns again. “Home?”

(He’s like a kitten.)

(So cute.)

Dazed, Jean turns away from him and to his sister. “Thanks. For conspiring and driving and organizing everything, I mean.”

(And for not making comments.)

(Or asking questions.)

“Don’t mention it, it was good driving practice! And now get out of my car, you stink.”

They watch her jolt out onto the street together. Minami rubs his eyes. “I am tired. But I not want to sleep.”

“Yeah.” Jean understands the feeling. He’s exhausted too but it’s Saturday evening, and even if he has to get up early tomorrow for Sunday mass, he’s not ready to let this day end that early. “Wanna sit down on the porch for a while?” he says and gestures to where he wants Minami to go. “I’ll go get us something to drink.”

Minami is not as energetic as usual, but smiles brightly when he understands and walks over to the stairs. “Loose tea, please.” The night is clear and warm, and he looks comfortable in the twilight with his chin in his hands. Still, Jean makes a mental note to bring blankets and one of Bella’s eco solar lights when he’s finished with brewing Minami’s Genmai-cha. No need to catch a cold. 

When they bought the house, Bella and he often sat on the porch together, Bella reading or doing needlework, Jean fidgeting with a Rubik's cube while trying to study for his bachelor’s degree or playing with his phone, sometimes doing all three things at the same time. Sometimes, he even got his work done.

They still sit out here when it’s warm, Bella has one of her rare nights off and it feels like it did when he got to know her. When everything was new and exciting and still normal. When he could see himself marrying her someday, raising a loud horde of beautiful kids in this house that’s far too big for only two people who spend more time apart than together.

(Sometimes, it’s lonely.)

(Does Bella feel lonely in her own home too?)

The kettle hisses. Jean fills the pot with leaves, waits a minute until the water has cooled a bit, and pours it in. The smell of roasted rice fills the room while he watches the clock tick so that he doesn’t over steep the tea. 

He grabs one of the fuzzy blankets from the floor, throws it over his shoulders and balances the pot, one of the lamps from the countertop, and two mugs outside. 

Minami’s exactly where he left him. “The birds are loud. Making night noise,” he says and hoots. 

It makes Jean smile and his heart ache. “Yeah, there’s this owl in one of the gardens. Must be mating season or something. It just won’t shut up.” He puts down the pot and the mug and sits down next to Minami in a respectful distance, switches on the lamp, and then pours some tea for him.

Minami puts the mug to his nose, inhaling its scent. The light of the lamp bathe him in a soft shine that makes him look almost ethereal. “Good bird. Good tea.”

“You haven’t tried it yet.”

“You make it. Good!”

“Yeah, whatever,” Jean says and hands him the blanket. “Wrap yourself in it. I don’t want you to get sick. You were wet all day, better not take the chance.”

“Wet is fun!”

(From the enticement of erotic thoughts, deliver me, oh Lord.)

“Just… just cover yourself. Keep warm, okay?” Jean busies himself with his own tea until he doesn’t feel as hot anymore. No chance in hell he’s getting sick tonight.

They sit and drink tea while Jean tries to will down the tingling sensation in his crotch with unsuspicious tiny movements. A combination of repeating lines from the Litany of Chastity does the trick. Jesus never disappoints. 

“Jann-Jakk-san?”

(Oh.)

(Oh no.)

Minami is suddenly awfully, gloriously close, the mug is gone. Wrapped in his blanket, he leans his head on Jean’s shoulder. While Jean still tries to figure out how Minami managed to move from sitting a meter apart to almost in his lap, he realizes there’s no way to hide what he really feels if Minami takes a closer look or comes any closer. His musky scent makes Jean’s heart beat faster. His hair looks so soft in the twilight. Jean needs to touch—

(NO.)

“Minami, I—”

“Thank you for today,” Minami mumbles. His eyelashes are so long, his lips so plump. “I really like that.”

Tenses. It’s all about tenses. “What do you like? Or did you like?”

“Today. You.”

“Oh. Oh God.”

Jean wants to run, but somehow, his feet won’t work. They make him stay exactly where he is, on this stupid porch with this stupid man who confuses the heck out of him with his clipped sentences and his adorable crooked smile and his innuendos and his gestures and—

“What… what are you doing?” It sounds more hysterical than Jean wants it to be, but he can’t help it because Minami has taken his hand and is stroking his treacherously sweaty fingers.

“I like you.”

(He said that before.)

“I really like you.”

(Why is he repeating it?)

“I can kiss you?”

(No way)

Jean nods.

He knows that he’s never actively fantasized about kissing a man. He’s dreamed about it, like a lot of boys do—at least Father Adrien told him so, and still made him pray twenty Our Fathers and ten Hail Marys to atone for his sins. 

It’s not that different from kissing Bella, not at first, when it’s only a soft touch of the lips and warm fingers on his face. Everything changes when Jean feels the tip of Minami’s tongue and opens his mouth to object—

(Who are you kidding?)

—and Minami moans and their tongues flicker against each other and Jean stumbles over the edge. 

His fingers claw into Minami’s soft hair, dragging him closer. He’s so warm, Minami is, even without the blanket that has dropped off of him already, and so _alive_.   
Minami is pressing himself to Jean, kissing him with as much enthusiasm as he shows whenever he is on the ice, making the cutest sighs. He tastes of green tea and everything Jean has missed over the years without even having the slightest knowledge he was even missing anything. 

With growing panic, Jean realizes he needs this. 

He wants—

(—to admit that my heart becomes corrupted by making my body—a temple of the Holy Spirit—into an object of lust and erotic pleasure, grant me the grace, O Lord—)

He—

He pushes Minami away, breathing heavily. 

“Jann-Jakk-san?” Minami’s eyes are dark as pits in the twilight. His lips are glistening with spit. 

(Disgusting.)

“I— I need—”

(This is wrong.)

Jean jumps up, away from Minami. “I can’t,” he says, sudden anger boiling in his stomach. He never should’ve sat on this porch, next to that man. Hasn’t his body told him often enough that he should keep his distance? Hasn’t he prayed for chastity, over and over again? Why has God forsaken him and filled him with these _thoughts_ , these _feelings_ he doesn’t want, doesn’t need, can’t bear?

God, he can’t bear this anymore.

He turns on his heels and runs, ignoring Minami’s desperate calls behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

It’s weird how long you are able to ignore something out of sheer will. That tiny dark mole on Jean’s shoulder blade would have turned into skin cancer by now if Bella hadn’t told him to see a dermatologist. Not that Jean didn’t know it was there. He just decided not to see it because doing so meant less hassle.

It’s the same with Matt. Matt was never really _gone_. 

On Jean’s eleventh birthday they fought. Although Jean doesn’t know the reason for it any longer.

(Probably something stupid, Matt was a teenager with an annoying, hyperactive little brother.)

Matt apologized for shouting at him later. They hugged and then he promised Jean that they’d always be close, no matter what. “You’re my favourite, you know that, right?”

“Even… even when I drop your stupid trophy?”

(Ah, that was the reason for the fight.)

“Even when you drop my stupid trophy. Forever and always, you clumsy idiot.”

Being close meant that even when Matt became a pro hockey player he never really left for long, always coming back on the weekends for Jean and visiting him as often as possible abroad when Jean was in Colorado Springs and Detroit to train. Later, Matt got a fixed contract with the Maple Leaves. By then, Jean had already formed the plan to buy a house for Bella. 

“Oh, I always wanted to have a house too,” Matt said when he heard of it.

Jean remembers his words as if Matt was running right next to him, as they always did when they were younger and still training together under their parents’ watchful eyes. 

(When things were easier.)

He dashes around the corner and stops abruptly in front of a familiar white fence. Since he last came here, the paint has peeled off and there is ivy growing on it. By now, the garden behind it is partly overgrown, not in a way that signals neglect but careful planning to make it look natural and peaceful.

(Matt always had an eye for that.)

Huffing, Jean wipes the sweat off of his forehead, inhales deeply and braces his hands on his knees because he's seeing stars. God is playing cruel games leading him here, of all places, when he's avoided the way to Matt's house for—

(How long?)

—years, always taking the other route to make sure he doesn't accidentally meet him somewhere in the neighbourhood. But Matt must have been living a secluded life since then, because they never ran into each other.

(Why come here now?)

Jean runs his hand through his hair. He wants to turn and leave. It's past ten. He can't stand here and stare at the house in the middle of the night, and there's no way he can just walk over and ring the bell. What for, even?

(To talk.)

There's a Subaru in the driveway, there's light on the first floor. Someone's there. Matt’s there. 

Jean could go home, couldn't he? But home means Minami, the man he's just kissed—

(Jesus Christ, he kissed Minami.)

—and by now Bella is home, probably—

(God, Bella needs to know.)

—and it's so unthinkable and so unbearable Jean just moves through the front gate and towards the white front door and rings the bell. Before he has time to hyperventilate, the door opens.

“Jean?” Matt’s older, and wearing a threadbare Canadian Tyre shirt and black boxers. His hair is starting to grey at his temples although he's only twenty-seven, but he's got the exact same warm brown eyes he inherited from their gentle dad. He even smells like the day he left, some cheap cologne he kept all these years because Jean gave it to him when he and his team first won gold. 

(It's still awful.)

(But he kept it.)

(Even after _that_.)

Jean clears his throat. “I'm sorry.” He can't blame Matt for staring at him as if he was a ghost, and he doesn't understand why Matt still drags him close, hugs him and presses his nose into his hair, but it feels right and _home_. 

He is led inside and is put on a giant worn out couch. Matt sits next to him, grabbing a Toronto Marlies sweater from the armrest that is clearly too large for him, and putting it on. 

“If I knew you'd be coming, I would've baked a carrot cake,” Matt says, and it makes Jean’s heart hurt that Matt still remembers his favourite. When Matt smiles there are faint lines around his eyes. He must've laughed a lot in the last few years. “How have you been? I mean, Theo told me a bit, but there's only that much you get out of a teenager, right?”

“She’s been visiting?” Jean says, although it's obvious. There are even pictures of Matt and her and some black giant on the wall behind him, who has his arms around their shoulders and grins into the camera. “Is this Theo's boyfriend?”

(That guy’s a bit old for her.)

Matt follows the line of his arm, and when he sees what Jean is pointing at, he smiles. “No, that's my husband, Arnold.” 

As soon as he's heard it, Jean finds clues everywhere: big shoes at the front door, more pictures of Matt and this _stranger_ on the wall, alone and with other people Jean had never seen in his whole life, friends probably, or teammates, the thin gold band on his ring finger.

“Husband,” Jean repeats slowly.

“Don’t look so shocked. We’ve been together for quite some time. Even before.” 

Jean doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing.

“I was hoping you’d want to meet him one day.” Matt pauses, fidgets with his shirt, looks at Jean. “Mom doesn’t want to come over, obviously.”

“Eventually, she’ll want to,” Jean says because it sounds so sad, and using Minami’s favourite word brings back all the memories, and his stupid eyes are wet before he can wipe the moisture away. 

Matt slips closer, touches Jean’s shoulder, and this does the rest because Jean is sobbing like a baby. He grabs Matt and hugs him, even harder than before, and cries into his shoulder. Matt's large sweater smells musky and worn. 

(A few weeks ago, this would’ve been unthinkable.)

(Things change.)

(People change.)

It’s like it’s always been, no matter if Jean fell in practice and hurt his knee or that time he ate that scouring agent because Simon-Samuel dared him to do it, or when he was so confused about not feeling anything for that girl in his class although everyone told him he should just be grateful she was in love with him. Matt just waits until he’s calmed down, only patting his back from time to time, holding him, not asking questions. 

(Theo must be his apprentice.)

When there are no more tears, Jean rubs his eyes and his face and is pretty sure he still looks awful. All that crying is so exhausting. When he’s taking his pills he’s not that emotional.

“Are you off your meds again?” 

“What are you, a mind-reader?” 

“Well… I’ve known you all your life. I know the signs.”

Jean forces himself to smile. “I— Yes. That’s partly it, I guess.”

“And the other part?”

How to even start? “I don’t know.”

“What the other part is?”

(How to talk to you.)

“What I’m even doing here, after all these years.” It’s ridiculous to say this, Jean realizes as soon as it's out of his mouth. Matt is still the same, but older, and Jean is the same, but older, even if there are a few more scars on his skater body and lines on his forehead because even King JJ can’t defy the laws of nature and stay young forever. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t worry, I get it. This is weird.” A pause. “Do you want to leave?”

“No.”

“Then stay. I’m making tea,” Matt says and gets up. 

Jean watches him search for tea bags in the kitchen cupboard, brew some hot water and fill two mugs. He is thinking. His feet are antsy. If God ever had a reason to send him a sign, it would be now, because he doesn’t know what to do. 

Of course, he could stay here and reconcile with his homosexual brother, but as far as he knows, this means eternal damnation in the afterlife. 

(But Theo is fine, isn’t she?)

(And there’s the Minami issue.)

(Jesus, the Minami issue.)

Jean decides to have his tea and leave afterwards. Hydration is important, and he was running all the way here. 

When Matt is back and puts two mismatched mugs in front of JJ, the smell of green tea fills the living room. “Arnold is quite fond of loose tea. He’d have a stroke if he saw me serve you quote, bagged shit, unquote.”

Jean touches the rim of his mug. It's wet, just as if it has been currently hand-washed. “I know a person who’d agree with that.”

“Bella?”

Of course Matt is asking for her. Jean has never had many friends; not many people can bear him. Theo always says he’s one of a kind, and Bella is one of the few people who's not family to accept him as he is. Before she came into his life, his family members were his only close social contacts.

“It’s not her.”

“Theo told me you’re still together. Happy, kinda.”

“Yeah. Kinda.” It’s too difficult to explain their arrangement. 

“I see.”

They say nothing for a while. Jean takes out the teabag, takes a sip of the tea. It’s cheap quality. Minami would hate it; he’d make all kinds of funny faces to show his disgust, making Jean laugh. He breathes in, breathes out, breathes in again. “I kissed this person. A man. I don’t— I don’t know what to do.” Saying it out loud makes it too real. Soon, Jean wiping tears off his face angrily. “Sorry. I hate being like this.” 

Calmly, Matt hands him a tissue he must’ve grabbed from the kitchen while he was preparing the tea and sips from his mug. “You know I cried much more than you when it happened,” he says after a while. “Or you don’t know. Dad knows. Theo knows. You don’t. If I was still believing in God, I’d say He has a strange sense of humor making you go through the same.”

(He surely has.)

(Sending Minami, confusing people.)

“I was always thinking that Jesus hated me for making me gay. But when you think of it, the scripture says He loves all of us. He even died for our sins. After all these years, I strongly believe that if he even existed—”

Jean inhales sharply.

“—he wouldn’t give a damn about me loving another person and taking care of them. I’m volunteering at the Rainbow Railroad, helping people like me, outcasts of their families. I teach them you can’t pray away the gay, and that they need to accept themselves. Arnold and I are thinking of adopting a child. Don’t you think that Jesus would agree I’m a good person?”

What can Jean do but nod?

“See? So why would any of your good deeds go away when you kiss a guy? If Jesus stops loving you because of this, he might not be the good guy we think he was,” Matt says. “But I'm sure that's not the case. Just think of Colossians 3:14. Do you remember?”

“‘And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.’” Jean always imagined this quote being read at his wedding with Bella. Now, he realizes he's never really fully understood its meaning. “I think I need to go home,” he says.

***

When Jean arrives, Bella is waiting for him on the patio. “Sit with me,” she says, and pats the space on her left.

Jean sits, a thousand thoughts rushing through his head at once, making him dizzy.

Before he can come up with something intelligent to say, Bella raises her hand to stop him. “Minami told me already, you know.” She’s looking onto the paved foodway that leads to the main entrance. “To be honest, I saw it coming. But not with him and not that quickly.”

Jean looks at her profile: the bangs, the freshly-painted lips, her calm eyes that always show him so much love and are all wet now. His stomach flips.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“You should only apologize if you really mean it.”

Jean closes his mouth. There’s that owl again and they listen to the noises it makes while Jean wipes his sweaty palms on his pants and Bella tries to cry without making a sound. 

“Are you angry?” Jean asks like the idiot the is.

Bella wipes her face and finally, finally looks at him. “Yes. No. I don’t know. Jesus, JJ, I’m your best friend. I’ve stayed around for all these years. Couldn't you just once have told me what you truly feel?”

It would be so easy to come up with a story, he thinks. Bella was always the one to accept any excuse he made, and who always covered up for him, obedient and loyal. 

(It makes her the perfect partner.) 

(It makes her convenient.)

(No, that’s not all.)

"I couldn't. I couldn't admit it to myself. But I love you.”

Bella smiles a wavering smile, tears falling off of her face, smearing her mascara even more. “I know that, you jerk. I wouldn’t have stuck around for so long if you didn’t. Because of this life we build together. Because of you. Because I love you, too.”

It hurts. 

“I’m sorry,” Jean says again, meaning it. This time Bella doesn’t answer back. She doesn’t flinch when Jean takes her hand to intertwine her fingers. Very gently, he strokes her soft skin, adores her perfectly manicured nails and the fact that her hand is so much slimmer than his.

They haven’t done this in ages. 

“I fucked up, didn’t I? I hurt your feelings.”

“Yeah, you did, you hurt my feelings. I’d say you’re not yourself when you’re not on your meds, but I guess that’s a lie I just want to tell myself because it makes things more bearable.” She scoots over, closer to him, and he lets go of her hand to wrap his arm around her, and as always, she places her head in his neck. She’s so tiny, and so strong, the perfect fit for him. 

And still.

“Do you still want to stay together?” Bella says, her voice tiny. 

She’s as scared as he is, JJ realizes, and it takes his breath away. “Of course. We work together! Don’t you like the way we work?” 

“I’m not what you want.” 

“You _are_. I just…” 

Bella rubs her eyes. “You deserve the chance to discover what it is that you want in life instead of being alone with the best roommate in the world.” 

“So, what, are you suggesting that I cheat on you?” It takes Jean all is willpower not to raise his voice. He can’t do that, no way. Bella is the one he’s going to marry.

(Eventually.)

(Shut up.)

He can’t cheat on her. 

“You’re not listening, JJ. What I’m saying is that you finding what you want won’t affect what is between us. We’re still getting married. All that’s going to change is separating ourselves from our parents’ expectations. And to be honest, it’s about time, don’t you think?”

It doesn’t make sense, and yet it does. All these years of white lies have been exhausting and the way Bella puts it, it’s hard to disagree on that. Jean is already a master in the the art of telling the half-truth to his family, and Bella has been doing the same with hers, over and over again. Jesus would surely have strong thoughts on this matter, as would Father Adrian, if Jean ever dares to tell him the truth.

(‘And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.’)

(Thanks for the reminder, Matt.)

The lying needs to stop. 

“Yeah. Yes. Let’s do this. Tell them the truth,” he says. 

“Took you long enough. You’re as stubborn as a donkey sometimes, you know that?”

“You’re one to talk.”

It’s good, Bella chuckling in his arms, almost as it was _before_. They’re back to normal, aren’t they? And still, Jean needs to know one more thing. 

“You don’t mind?”

“What?”

“Me being— being with others. Guys.” God, it’s hard to say it out loud, and it doesn’t get easier the more the does it. How do the Katsuki-Nikiforovs deal with this? How does Matt?

(Matt might know.)

Bella shifts in his arms, making herself more comfortable. It’s getting chilly. “It’s what you are, I guess. As long as I can be part of your life, it’s okay. Are you okay?”

He doesn’t know. He thought he wasn’t, he wishes he was. “I’m so afraid, Bella.”

“Of what?”

“Of things changing. Of having to tell my family.” It’s also hard to say this, to admit he’s scared of it, of her. Jean really wants to cry. He got really good at it in the last few days, but there’s just dread creeping through his body like a sepsis. 

Bella is warm in his arms. “I’ve told you I’m fine with it. Nothing will change if you don’t want it to change. We can still continue like things were.”

How alluring, going on like before. Living in this house, having a lot of money, being a team. No questions asked, no pressure on them, just two engaged people living together until they’re ready to get married.

But then Jean thinks of Matt, and how happy he looks nowadays, being _out_ , and he knows he doesn’t want to go back. “I think I have to tell people the truth for once. Be honest.”

“I’m truly proud of you, JJ,” she says, and because he knows she absolutely means this it lits a tiny sun right under his collarbone.

And still.

“Would you really have continued like we did, forever?”

“Yeah,” she says. “It’s a good life. Comfortable. But if it makes you unhappy, it makes me unhappy. And I want you to be happy, even if it’ll get uncomfortable for a bit.”

Jean drags her closer and hugs her so tightly she starts wincing in his arms, because her cute noises drown the fear. “I don’t deserve you, you know that, right?”

“Jesus, JJ, you’re killing me!”

He kisses the crown of her hair and lets her breathe. “You sure you’re truly happy with this? Our arrangement?” His nose is in her hair. “You won’t leave in the middle of the night because you find another man?”

This makes her chuckle. “JJ, have I _ever_ shown any interest in any other man ever?”

He remembers her from their high school days, beautiful and fair and kind, and that she never went out with any of the guys that tried to ask her for a date even once, earning her the nickname Ice Queen. But she sat down next to him one day, saying, ‘I saw you stare at me. Wanna be my boyfriend?’

‘I can’t do casual relationships,’ he’d said, intimidated by her clear skin, her perfect teeth and her sweet smile. ‘I don’t want to.’

‘Good for you I’m not into that either,’ she’d said. He’d figured out soon enough she needed him as much as he needed her; he was not the only one being pressured to get married by family.

“Nah. I guess you won’t run off with a Jake or a Steve. You’re the type to stay with a true King.”

“You’re the worst.”

“You’re the best.”

“I know.”

They sit for a while, comfortable with each other’s silence, but as always, it soon becomes too overwhelming for Jean, especially with all the thoughts rushing through his head. “God, I don’t wanna tell my mom.”

“You know that I’ll be there for you, right? I just can’t be here right _now_. Not because I’m mad, but because I need to sleep. But tomorrow we can figure out what to do next. How to tackle your mom. And mine, of course. Oh, that’s going to be so much fun.” Bella gets up, brushes the dirt off of her pants. “I’ll head to bed, okay? Talk to Minami. He’s confused because you left so quickly, and he’s very sorry. Don’t feed him any dairy products.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

“Good boy.” The way Bella says it makes Jean yearn for her warmth again. 

“I don’t want you to leave, Isabella.”

“I’m not leaving, dummy. But you’ll have to manage without me for a few hours.” She kisses him on the cheek and walks inside. “Don’t forget about Minami. Be a decent human being.”

Bella’s right, of course. Minami and he definitely need to talk about what happened and what might happen in the future. About what the kiss meant, if it even meant anything. Jean is not really an expert when it comes to that after so many years being together with only Bella.

(Wait.)

(Will there be something new, with him?)

(Oh.)

(Oh shit.)

“Oh shit,” he says, rolls the swear word on his tongue, tastes its foul smell. “Fuckfuckfuck.” Right now, everything is so awfully confusing.

Yeah, Jean should get up and talk to Minami, who must be worried sick over him. For now, however, the only thing he’s able to do is to sit and think and listen to that stupid owl in the sycamore tree.

“Hoot-hoot,” he murmurs to himself.

Just a few more minutes. He'll go inside and sort things out, _eventually_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are your ideas about what happens next? Let me know! There will be art by my two very talented artists imgainary_drahonling and Issa_Z in the next few days, so come back to check their pictures out :)
> 
> ***
> 
> To be honest, this bang was hard to finish. I was struggling with my idea and my writing a lot, but I really wanted to finish because I didn’t want to let my two artists down. It took a while but now after it’s finished I really like this fic, and writing it taught me so much about pushing myself to my limits.
> 
> No way this would have been possible without these people: 
> 
> imaginary_dragonling who was always there to talk about ideas and give general writing advice/constructive feedback in a way that was respectful and perfect—thanks for being honest with me when things weren’t working, and a thousand hugs for all the praise and encouragement;
> 
> Oceanwhirl, my partner in crime who’s always there when I need to talk about my fic ideas (or basically anything else that goes through my head), who made Minami 100% more adorably Japanese and read this fic even though JJ is “the worst”;
> 
> my beta team Kateli and Vixen13, who dug through my writing, found all the mistakes I made (COMMAS WHY) and gave me so much important writing advice; 
> 
> and breathtaken, my writing sensei, who always asks the right questions about character motivation and development. 
> 
> THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH <3 YOU ROCK!!


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